


Connection

by MelissaD



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:51:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 140,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8326828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelissaD/pseuds/MelissaD
Summary: An American forensic psychologist hired by Mycroft Holmes. You thought it would be more interesting and fulfilling than your previous job with a law firm in London but you had no idea how much it would change your life. Or really, how much one person would change everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

 

It was your third MI-6 interrogation and no one else had the clearance to be in that area let alone the observation room where you were positioned. Mycroft Holmes sat in the box, a tiny interrogation room, questioning the man believed to be a high-level hit man in a terrorist organization but the information he gave had been tricky at best. To make the necessary moves, Mycroft had to be completely positive or they’d give away their advantage.

You sat at a desk in the observation room behind the two-way mirror that was only slightly bigger than the box. The desk was clear except for your pad of paper, two pens, and a thin microphone that connected wirelessly to the tiny earbud in Mycroft’s ear. With a pen poised over the paper, you focused on the man simply known as the IceMan. Behavioral analysis was your specialty, and in this case, you were tasked with finding if the man had lied or embellished any of his information. Your career so far had been made on finding the truth and your extensive training with body language and micro expressions made you highly qualified, but it required all of your attention to be on your subject thus the quiet, empty room you sat in.

Mycroft had finished a long series of questions to give you a proper baseline and he resituated himself before going in for the kill. Even though you could only see the back of Mycroft’s head you could picture that smile he always wore when he knew something he believed no one else did. You’d only been working for him for three months but he always had such a flare for drama. You had warned him that anyone trained or knowledgeable about certain tactics would see right through him. He smiled and thanked you for your input but never changed. He was always the smartest man in the room, after all.

You made sure the microphone wasn’t on before cursing his peacocking. “Idiot. I’ve warned you about flaunting.”

The IceMan made an odd movement and you leaned forward and listened closer to Mycroft’s question. A quick upturn at the corner of his mouth and his eyes hardened for just a split second. You pressed the microphone button. “He doesn’t agree with the way you’re laying out the facts.”

Mycroft switched a few words and there was no change but you noticed another anger tick with his nose. “Well hello, IceMan. Now we’re getting somewhere.” You pressed the button, “go back to the children’s hospital bomb.” You quickly wrote down,

_-no harm to children_

_-have a child?_

_-hospital bomb broke allegiance?_

Mycroft read out the details of the hospital bomb and a range of emotions crossed the man’s face. Disgust, anger, and sadness. “Grief. You don’t like hurting kids, do you?” You pressed the button, “that’s what splintered the alliance.”

Mycroft continued with the rest of the information IceMan had given and you didn’t see any sign of disagreement until the last point. You pressed the button, “wait. Something’s off with the Parliament tip.”

Mycroft called him out on it and his nostrils flared again. “Got ya.” You pressed the button, “he doesn’t believe a word he just said.”

The IceMan actually looked a little defeated as Mycroft threatened to rescind the agreement. IceMan revealed he had only heard whispers but used that one to ensure his safety. You would’ve felt bad for him if not for the fact that he seemed delighted by the idea of blowing up Parliament. “He’s telling the truth about someone wanting to do it but he’s got nothing solid. He’s just rambling now to make up for it.”

With a glance down at the phone, you realized you’d been sitting there for two hours. You stood up and stretched your back out while watching Mycroft slide the pen and paper across the metal table to IceMan before standing up himself. He turned toward the mirror, straightened his tie, and buttoned his jacket then smiled.

“Preening doesn’t look good on you, Mycroft.” You rolled your eyes then heard a muffled noise behind you.

You spun around in surprise and a tall man was standing against the back wall of the room. “He was always like that.”

“Who the hell are you?”

He smiled but it wasn’t genuine. “Just an interested party. I overheard a few things about you and wanted to see for myself. I’m curious how you could deduce where exactly his lie was.”

“Deduce?” That word along with the familial similarities tipped you off. “Sherlock Holmes. I’ve heard about you too. I thought you’d be shorter.”

Disgust flared the corner of his upper lip. “My brother, no doubt.”

You chuckled, “I see the rivalry clearly goes both ways.”

He moved away from the wall with very calculated steps around you. “So, how did you do it? What tipped you off?” He glanced down at your notes. “A child? What makes you think he could possibly have a child?”

“My expertise, in this case, is behavior and micro expressions. I thought you said you heard about me?”

He eyed you as if reading lines on the page of a book. “Yes, but a face doesn’t give enough information.”

“As a whole, no. But in a certain setting, you can learn what you need in someone’s face.” You could see the doubt. “I’m sure you’ve gained some insight by the way people react to what you say. We react every day to emotions we see on people’s faces even if we may not realize it right away. I pay very close attention to what they’re trying not to show in this case. He had a momentary flare of disgust, anger, and sadness when Mycroft spoke of the children’s hospital bomb. If he just genuinely didn’t like to hurt children then disgust and anger would have been it but sadness added in a bit of something personal. It’s possible he had a child but that would be difficult to say definitively without more time spent with him delving into that area seeing how a child can mean different things to different people; burden or gift, legacy or dream crusher, stressor or future caregiver, and sometimes all of the above in their time.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up and a split second flash of surprise before he slipped back into a blank slate. “People hide things all the time, they can train to beat things like lie detectors.”

He was testing you. You had nothing but your gut and what little you knew of Sherlock to know it but it still annoyed you all the same. He snuck in here to watch and then push your buttons. You’d had enough of that since starting your position under Mycroft. You didn’t know why he would be here and you hated not knowing.

“Everyone wears a mask, Mr. Holmes. I’m sure that’s what you’re getting at. Every day we leave our homes and play the part society has decided is decent and civil but certain emotions can’t be completely hidden especially when we’re trying to hide them. Micro expressions are deeply ingrained and you can tell yourself you control what you show the outside world but you can’t erase biological wiring. It’s a split second action that betrays you, sure some have learned to beat lie detectors and some are very good but I could use equipment, a high-speed camera, for instance, and I would be able to spot your wiring betraying you. When you’re pretending, even if you’re the greatest actor, it’s extremely difficult to conceal a micro expression. Whether you’re not truly feeling something you’re showing or trying to hide something. I’ve never seen or heard of it happening when someone trained is watching. Of course, you need context and a baseline for each person but those are specifics I’m sure would bore you unless you were interested in the training.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. And you continued, “for instance, I know the idea of wearing a mask appealed to you. You wanted me to think you found it humorous but in fact, you didn’t really think it was funny at all. I actually get the feeling you do that a lot, show people what you think they should see or want to see to get what you need.”

His smile fell, “you’ve been talking to my brother.”

“We work together, of course, we talk.” He quirked his brow and you walked up to him canceling out the remaining space between you. It was closer than decency called for and he had to look sharply  down to keep eye contact. You registered his surprise. “He said his little brother was a detective and a fairly good one at that. But I can see the flair for dramatics runs in the family.”

“I don’t flaunt…”

You interrupted him as you pushed up on your tiptoes leaning on him with the slightest bit of pressure. “So, you were in here for that part. Just wanted to know how long I was being stalked.” You reached around him and picked up your file, pad of paper, and pens before stepping back and placing them all together in the crook of your arm.

You walked toward the door, “by the way, your eyes are dilated.” You smirked as you looked over your shoulder, “it’s not that dark in here, you should probably get that checked out.” You left the room and had to bite your lip to keep the large grin off your face.

Too bad he was such an ass, he was attractive up close.

~~

You were sitting at your desk filling out more paperwork for Mycroft and cursing the government’s need for such detailed reports from every person involved in a case. The alarm on your phone went off alerting you to your one o'clock appointment with Mr. Galen, an operative that also worked under Mycroft. You sighed, dreading the next hour where he would try to conceal how much he stared at your breasts.

You slipped a sweater over your blouse then tried to finish your notes on the document. The door opened and he walked in but the cadence was wrong. “I’m sorry but I have an appointment in a few minutes.” You glanced up and found the last person you’d expect, “Mr. Holmes?”

He was standing in the middle of your office looking around then smiled. “Mr. Galen regrettably had to reschedule. I was here so,” he turned and walked over to the couch.

“I’m sorry, are you saying you want this hour?”

He sat down. “Would you object?”

You looked down at the mind-numbing document you were almost finished with but had four more just like it underneath. You leaned back in your chair and watched him wondering what he was really here for. You were confident that you got your point across when you met him last week but you still didn’t know why he had snuck in to watch you in the first place. The question still nagged at you now. “How did you find out about this opening?”

“I just happened to be in Mycroft’s office when Mr. Galen was given an assignment and he had mentioned the appointment. Quite upset he had to miss it.”

“And you just happened to be looking for a psychologist?”

“So, that is your professional title?” His gaze moved to your display of credentials on the wall behind you.

“Since I have an hour.” You closed the file and indicated the chair near the couch. “Would you prefer me in that chair or this one?”

He met your gaze and raised his brow, “normal protocol, Doctor.”

You smiled despite yourself. “That is normal. Would you feel more comfortable if I stayed over here or joined you?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, “wouldn’t you be able to read me better if you were closer?”

“That’s not what these appointments are for. I’m here to help people, not interrogate them.” You furrowed your brow, “I am a psychologist first, Mr. Holmes.”

“Sherlock.”

You picked up a pen and pad of paper then walked over to the chair and sat down. “Where would you like to begin?”

“Isn’t that your job?”

“I’m here to assist you. What would you like me to help you with?” He stared, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Something been troubling you recently?”

“So, people just come in here and whinge?”

You placed your elbow on your knee and rested your chin in your hand, “is that what you would like to do?”

“How dull does this get for you?”

You sat up and smiled, “actually it can be quite interesting hearing a different perspective, seeing a glimpse into another’s life, and quite rewarding when I can help them gain the tools they need to maneuver an obstacle or whatever the case may be.”

His brow scrunched together and he tapped his fingers on the couch. “So you’ve never had someone come in and ask you what was wrong with them?”

“I’m not a magician, Sherlock. There’s no crystal ball. And for the record, I don’t think anything is wrong with you.”

“What? Where would you get an idea like that?”

“You just asked.”

“I was asking about people who come to a psychologist.”

“Therapy is different for everyone. Some just like someone to talk to that they know wouldn’t judge them or they think it wouldn’t matter if they did because they probably wouldn’t see them outside the office. Talking something out with someone can help by getting a second opinion, a different perspective. One person only has what they already know but a second pair of ears or eyes can open a door or catch a missing piece. Seeing a therapist is not like seeing a medical doctor. You are not broken and I can not cure you but I can help you find strengths and give you tools to help you deal with your problems. Sometimes the easiest person to open up to is a stranger with a degree that says she knows some shit about the way the mind works.”

Sherlock tilted his head, “is that an American thing?”

You chuckled. “No, the kids and teenagers love it, though. I’ve found it breaks the ice quite nicely here with adults too.”

“Well then, what if I did ask you to read me like you did the other day.”

“Therapists don’t do that. That’s not something that happens in this room. I’m here to help you, not make a bunch of guesses from what little I know of you.”

His brow rose, “that didn’t seem to bother you last time.”

“You were not a client, you were a stalker that snuck up on me.”

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers before pressing them to his chin. “Play a game with me. That will help me.” He grinned.

“You really want me to just tell you what I’ve guessed about you?” He nodded. You leaned back and placed your hand down on your pad as you trailed your eyes over him. “Should we start with childhood? No, too easy because of Mycroft. School wouldn’t have been easy, being the smartest and standing out in height would not have gone well especially with the secluded childhood and a brother like Mycroft, to be honest. So, you kept your head down and studied, it’s where your strengths were and what your mind craved being highly logical… but finding things easy where others struggled, so even in the overachiever crowd you’d be ostracized. Being the smartest in the room is never easy when it comes to social norms and even harder when those norms seem pointless and a waste of time. I’d say you have little to no circle of confidantes and find detective work suits you rather well when you can work alone but even after a lifetime of doing well on your own, lonely gets boring. So, you came here to talk to someone. How am I doing so far?”

He leaned back and lowered his hands to his lap keeping his face blank, “Mycroft.”

You shrugged. “I collect data in what people say, how they react in situations, and some I guess because of cases I’ve studied, the research I’ve done, the experiences I’ve had and seen myself, and I try to help guide them to solutions. Obviously, I took a little from what I’ve learned from Mycroft, can’t be helped, and I collected some data off your website. I don’t have a degree in deduction, Sherlock. I have a degree in Psych…”

He perked up at the mention of his website. “Fascinating. You actually read the website, what did you think?”

You chuckled. “It’s a lot and I don’t think I’d be very good at it. I’m usually more attuned to people’s behavior.”

He ran his hand down the front of his suit jacket before looking back up, his face less tense. “I recently got a roommate.”

“Interesting. Do you want to tell me about him?”

“His name is John, army doctor recently back home from Afghanistan with a psychosomatic limp.” The corner of his mouth slowly curled up, “loves the thrill of the chase.”

“Not too offended by your bluntness or your habit of showing off?”

Sherlock raised his brow and you smiled. “It’s my job to observe.”

A small hint of a smile before he replied, “not yet.”

You laughed, “sounds like a good man.”

He narrowed his eyes, “just from what I said or has my brother already had you look into him?”

You watched him as you placed your hands on your pad. “We both know your brother and the power that he has at his fingertips. If he wanted to know about your new flatmate, one who has a therapist, why wouldn’t he just get copies of her files instead of wasting his time and mine by having me look into him?” You raised your brow, “is that what you wanted to get out of this? To find out if your brother was looking into you or was there something else you were hoping to sniff out around here?” You smirked as he dropped your gaze and his eyes flitted back and forth for a moment.

He met your gaze and held it steadily as he said, “it wasn’t my intention…”

You cut him off. “Sherlock.” His head pulled back and his eyes widen just a bit. “Let’s agree not to lie to each other because really what would be the point?”

A small genuine smile came to his face. “Agreed. I wondered if my brother would try to interfere further and you seemed like his best bet.”

You grinned, “by the way, congratulations on your case and the upgrade.” His brow pinched for a second and you continued. “Doctor, patient confidentiality does extend to psychologists and since I know your brother, if you wish to continue our sessions here, I will keep a tighter lock on your file in particular.”

He leaned forward, his head tilted slightly to the side as he eyed you, “interesting.”

You looked at the clock, “good. Now that’s out of the way, you have about thirty minutes left. Would you like to talk more about John or is there something else you’d like to talk through? I find a sounding board is very effective in weeding through congested thoughts.”  

His brow popped for a split second before he smirked, “now, that you mention it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Your office never seemed quite so quiet when you were at your desk alone, but seated in the chair across from a silent Sherlock was therapeutic in and of itself. The clock was running and his hour winding down, he sat with his fingers steepled and the tips resting against his chin with his eyes focusing on something in a distance you couldn't see.

You had grown used to his trips into his mind over the last couple of months and knew when talking was pointless as he sorted things out. At first, you weren't sure what to do as every sound in the surrounding area boomed and echoed around the room and yet, Sherlock remained undisturbed. You slowly came to enjoy it, the quiet time with him around was nice. The office noises on the floor fell away and you got a chance to clear your mind and just breathe. Sometimes you watched him, his face relaxed with a twitch in his cheek or brow every now and then. It had a soothing feel like watching water cascading down a fall or those little rock water features.

“He risked his life for me. I mean it wouldn't have worked but he thought it would.”

You tilted your head wondering if he was actually talking to you or merely murmuring. His gaze was still far off. “He likes you. You have a friend, Sherlock. I'd say that's pretty interesting. He's a really good writer too.”

He frowned then his gaze sought yours. “No.” He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands, “no, no, no.”

“What?”

“You're one of them.”

“You’ll have to give me more to go on.”

He glanced up, still slightly hidden behind his hands. “What do you think of the cases I don't solve?”

“There's not many, what, one?” He smirked then grimaced. “What is it?”

“Do you think it's important to read that?”

“What? That every now and then there's isn't a connection to be made?”

“No.” He tapped his fingers on the couch, “that it makes me appear more human.”

You chuckled then noticed he wasn't joking. “There's nothing wrong with you. You are as much human as anyone else on this planet.”

He looked offended but it was forced. “I don't think that. John said it.”

“It's just a turn of phrase. People see that you're not perfect and they connect more, see that you have down days just like everyone else.”

“I'm not like everyone else.”

“In some ways, yes, some ways, no.” He gazed at you trying to keep his expression blank but you could see the interest in his eyes. “Everyone is different. It might not be in a hugely significant way but everyone, no matter how much they want to stand out or fit in, is already different. Whether it’s their talents, true interests, likes, and dislikes, everyone has something that's their own. People’s reactions to those differences aren't something we can control if we decide to show them and the line between admiration and envy is thin.” You smiled as you thought of a study you’d done in college. “Have you ever heard of an empath?”

His brows furrowed and he looked skeptical, “you can't be asking me if I believe in paranormal abilities.”

“Not at all.” You smirked, “some people say that my ability is scary or I'm full of it and simply guessing, I've also been told by someone who had no idea about my training that I must have supernatural powers.” You quirked a brow, “can you honestly tell me no one has ever said that you must have the sight or some other word alluding to your abilities being otherworldly?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, “creations of a simple mind.”

“The brain is a powerful thing, you are a very fine example, and whose to say that what you and I can do is any different from these people with different strengths?” He watched you, his brow still pinched but a small quirk at the corner of his mouth told you he was still with you. “Forgive me, I'm burying the lead. While working toward my degree, I met a woman, an empath, during a study. Shelly felt people’s emotions so deeply she had become a recluse, hiding away because she couldn't stand to be around people. She described it as people shouting at her anytime she was around them. I finally got her to speak to me in person by taking her in a room with just me.”

“You didn't stay out of the room?”

“No, because I didn’t want her to feel like a test subject, a lab animal in a box. She’d had enough of that treatment all her life. We sat quietly for a while and then she smiled. She told me I was quiet and asked how I could silence my feelings.”

“I explained that I was calm and would try to keep my face as blank as possible during our discussions.”

“You already had an idea.”

You smiled, “yes, but I couldn't be positive. I spoke with her in five different sessions and during our last one, she had cringed and closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples. I apologized, guessing that maybe I hadn't kept my reaction as subtle as I thought but she told me it wasn't me. That it felt different. Now, most people at this point would think okay, she's spent enough time with me that she identifies my feelings separate from others or they'd think she was simply faking. I had glanced around the room though and noticed that a colleague of mine was pacing stiffly outside a window to our left. I pulled out my phone and texted him to pace elsewhere and as she began to come out of her forced lockdown, I asked her a few questions about the feeling. She described a haze of anger and jealously from a masculine energy.”

His eyes brightened. “She saw him pacing by the window.”

You nodded your head, “her brain took in the information that it gained from her peripheral vision and engaged her fight or flight response strengthening the feeling and making it seem like her own. She was by definition an empath. Highly sensitive and finely attuned to others emotions. I had trained for two years at that point on cognitive behavior and had just started with micro expressions but she was already observing the things around her and taking them in without even trying but the way her brain was processing it made her feel every emotion that she observed. She had lived her whole life like this, she was basically a prodigy of reading people. I envied her ability but I admired her strength even more. Imagine feeling or experiencing everything you observed as you observed it. It would be deafening. And then when you reached out for help, people told you that you were faking, that you were over emotional, even a doctor told her she had hysteria. Hysteria!” You shook your head and took a deep breath. “The people that were supposed to help her failed her so she did the only thing she felt was left to her, she closed herself off and locked the door.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, “why was your colleague angry?”

“What?”

“The man pacing outside the window.”

“Oh, he was an ass. He said I had poached his study participant which was an outright lie.”

“An ass?” He smirked.

“He was one of those that liked to use people for his own enjoyment. Let's just say he didn't end up passing.” Sherlock quirked his brow. “His project was more humiliation than help.”

He nodded, “how did they get her involved?”

“The ass had a talent with charm and manipulation.”

He was watching you closely. “Was she your first?”

“My first what?”

“Person you helped?”

You smiled. “Professionally, yes. She still works with my old professor.”

“Professionally. So, you helped others before pursuing your degree?”

“Yes. Did you find and solve cases before you took on your title of consulting detective?”

He lifted his brow, “I thought I kept my head down and studied?”

You shrugged, “doesn't mean you didn't have other interests.”

He looked at you differently and you forced your gaze to your pad not wanting to intrude and read him. You brushed some hair behind your ear and moved on. “What else did you want to discuss today?”

He watched you, the corner of his mouth curling up. “Would you like to hear about the case?”

You nodded and leaned forward. “Go on.”

~~

As the months passed, you found yourself excited for Sherlock's drop-ins and scheduled appointments. Sometimes it was once a week and when it went a few weeks in between you actually missed them, missed him. You sat at your desk and looked at your schedule on your laptop wondering if he’d drop in soon.

It didn't elude you that there was a big difference between interest in a case and interest in a client and there was no way in hell you were going to tell Mycroft that you were becoming slightly compromised when it came to his brother. You could handle it and you knew the line if it got to that point you would excuse yourself as his therapist.

After heaving a sigh and clearing your mind, you exited your calendar and loaded the disc Mycroft needed you to look at. The screen dimmed before the box appeared and a dark haired man named James Moriarty sat across from Mycroft. it didn't take long to realize why Mycroft wanted you to review it because the interview was more a study of a man who barely moved as he was talked at.

Something about the man pulled at you, a nagging familiarity but you couldn't put your finger on it. He stayed utterly silent with his face blank even after the recorder had stopped and restarted three times. While he looked worse each time, his blank expression never changed. You fast forwarded through hours where his expression never changed until you saw something and took it back. He finally showed some hint of interest when Mycroft began to talk of Sherlock.

The icy feeling slithered down your back as you watched the man’s lips spread into a wide smile, his eyes dancing as Mycroft gave him little things here and there about Sherlock’s past. You had the sudden urge to punch Mycroft in the face.

You were still watching the footage an hour later when your phone buzzed on your desk. You picked it up and frowned at the unknown number.

**I need your expertise. If convenient, call.**

You typed back quickly, **who is this and how did you get my number?** You only had to wait a minute before the next text came through.

**SH. If inconvenient, call. Please.**

You stopped the video and pressed dial still running the initials through your mind.

A familiar but shaky voice spoke. “So, not busy then?”

“Sherlock?”

“Yes. I told you.”

“Your initials are not…” you closed your eyes. “How did you even get...” You chuckled, “why am I even asking that.”

“Stop the ridiculous babbling, are you going to help me or not?”

“Having a bad night, are we?” There was a moment of silence and you could hear noises in the background. “Sherlock, what’s going on?”

“I need an expert opinion on a matter I'm struggling with.”

“I don't want you to get upset for asking but I have to know if you're in danger of hurting…”

“No, I'm not a danger to myself or others.”

“Where’s John? I thought you two were out of town on a case?”

“He’s gone for a walk. Wait, how did you…” He growled, “Mycroft. I knew it.”

“I may have overheard him checking up on you. A military base is a pretty lofty b and e. What expertise may I assist you with this fine evening.”

“I experienced something tonight I've never felt before and I need a… I need help to get rid of it so I can think.”

“Okay. What’s going on?”

He took an audible breath. “I'm afraid and I can't make it stop.”

“Afraid? Of what? This is about the hound thing?”

“The last thing I expected was to see it and now, this ridiculous emotion clouding my judgment…” Wait, how did you? I didn't say anything about…”

“The Baskerville base. Why else would a detective be out there?”

He blew out a shaky breath, “I don't do this. I can't think with this...”

“Sherlock, it's okay. Just breathe. Where are you? Describe the room you're in.”

“What good is…”

“You wanted my expertise, did you not? Trust me. Describe the room you're in slowly with a deep breath between each item.”

He took another audible breath and began detailing the room starting with the open beamed ceiling down to the heart shaped wreath hanging over the bright fire in front of him. He ended with the high back chair he sat in and the neighboring one that John had occupied before he shouted at him that he had no friends. He took another long deep breath that was definitely less shaky than his first.

“Feeling a little better?”

“No.”

“Your breathing is better. Are you upset that you hurt John?”

“Why would I…”

“John is your friend and you just lashed out because you were frustrated and mad at yourself. Let’s start there, why are you frustrated?”

“I've told you. I don't do this, I don't let the grit get in the lens because there is always an explanation for what's going on but I actually saw it and if I saw it that means I'm just as gullible as the rest of these idiots searching for ghosts.”

“If you mean you're human then yes, yes you are. But what it sounds like you’re talking about is the fight or flight response and you're feeling the residue of its effects. It's not something you can control, it's a primal function in your brain and once it's activated, your brain is flooded with chemicals and everything is heightened. Your rational mind is unplugged in a way because your body is readying you to survive. All your senses are heightened and could easily be tricked into seeing whatever possible enemy could be there. Your senses are searching for that enemy and it will find anything that comes close.”

“Chemicals.”

“Yes, adrenaline, cortisol…”

“No, drugs that spurred it on.”

“Well, yes certain drugs could trigger the body’s response but it wouldn't be needed in the right setting.”

“But if there was a perfect setting and story to go along with it, all you would need is the right drug to… Yes.”

“You’re gone, aren't you?”

“Thank you for your expertise, Y/n. You've been very helpful.”

“Another tip?”

“What?”

“Be nice to John. He already puts up with a hell of a lot and hasn't run away.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Awe, how kind.”

“What?” You could picture the surprise on his face and chuckled.

“She raised a fine young man, I'll take the compliments where I can. Goodnight, detective.”

“Right. Goodnight.”

You hung up the phone and looked back at the video. James Moriarty sat unblinking for the most part staring at the mirror. He was unsettling, mainly because of his obsession with Sherlock but there was still something else that you couldn't grasp.

He wouldn't say a word unless Mycroft was willing to talk about his little brother. You pressed play and fast forwarded as he sat barely moving in the chair. It was chilling, the patience that he had displayed over the hours and days. Mycroft was playing with fire talking with him but even he had to see the way Moriarty lit up while Mycroft spoke of Sherlock. It didn't matter that he opened up only when hearing about the younger Holmes because every emotion he showed, although impressive, was complete and utter bullshit except for the glee. You were looking at a very impressive psychopath.

Days and days of footage had only convinced you further that the man staring into his questioners’ eyes or directly into the camera barely felt a damn thing. He could mimic like any professional on stage or camera and he played it well enough to become the man he claimed to be. At the head of a very powerful organization and said he had no fear of anything that Mycroft and his men could throw at him. It was the truth because the man sitting there had never tasted fear in his entire life.

You paused the video again, James Moriarty was staring at the camera with a smirk on his face. You were sure he knew someone would be looking through the two-way mirror or reviewing footage after the fact. He had looked over and smiled or winked every now and then almost as a tip of the hat to the person watching him. Maybe he even thought at some point Sherlock would view it.

The eyes that stared chilled you, whispering of ghosts from your past, of other interviews from men behind bars, but those men had blood on their hands and lots of it. This man didn't like to do his own dirty work and that fact bothered you more than anything. Unlike the men you had studied back in the states, this man was hard to predict because he didn't seem to have any genuine interests, except of course for Sherlock.

It hit you like a freight train, the nagging familiarity exploded into a memory. You had seen this man before, had worked beside him for four months before gaining proof for your professor that he was not truly seeking to help but to harm. “Son of a bitch!”

You closed the video player out, slapped the laptop closed, and yanked the flash drive from its socket. You didn’t know what Mycroft was trying to set up but you didn’t like that he seemed to be dangling his brother out like bait on a stick. And there was no way he didn't know that you had a past with Moriarty under a different name.

You checked the time and placed your files in your top desk drawer before gathering your things. You walked out, locking the door behind you, and headed toward Mycroft’s office wondering how long he had been following Moriarty.

You knew he would either be at his desk or in the interrogation room, most likely the ladder, but you needed time to collect your thoughts. Anthea’s desk was empty and his door was shut with no light spilling out underneath it, so you continued on to the elevator at the end of the hall.

After fifteen minutes, you finally reached the box and stepped into the viewing room where you had met Sherlock for the first time. You shoved the thoughts from your mind and focused. This wasn’t about you, this was about Mycroft and Sherlock.

Mycroft stood there in the middle of the room, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his ever-present umbrella that he leaned on. He didn’t look away from the man sitting quietly on the other side of the glass. “Y/n. Find anything?”

“Why are you playing with him?”

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, “it’s what I do.”

“With your brother’s life?”

He turned to you and narrowed his eyes, “is this coming from his therapist?”

You rolled your eyes, “oh yes, you are all knowing, Mycroft.” You stepped up to him and stared him down. “That man in there is a psychopath and a very intelligent one at that. Every minute of that video is filled with a very patient, incredible actor who feels nothing of what he is showing. His only obsession seems to be your brother so why in the hell would you stoke that fire?”

He mulled something over before his face cleared, “you like him.”

You stabbed your finger into his chest, “this is not a game. This is serious. Your brother is my client and his welfare is of my concern.”

“Just because he’s a client?” The corner of his mouth curled up.

You quirked a brow. “Are you trying to insinuate that I’m unprofessional? Because you know things like that get around and you won’t have me to call on anymore.”

He heaved a heavy sigh like he was bored. “Sherlock is fine. He’s a big boy and knows perfectly well who I’m dealing with.”

“You know how calculated that man in there is and I know you’ve thought about the possibility that he wanted to be caught. He’s been flirting with you for long enough just waiting for a chance to be in a room with you. Tell me you are taking that into account when you are telling him about your genius little brother.” You watched him closely as his gaze flicked over to the mirror and something flashed across his face for just a second. “He was, wasn’t he? He allowed you to catch him.”

He put his umbrella in front of him, pulled his hand from his pocket and placed it on top of the other. “For a second there, I was beginning to question my own judgment.”

You stepped back and looked through the mirror. Moriarty was standing up and walking around whistling. “When were you going to tell me?” His brow rose but he said nothing, “you know what I'm talking about.”

“I didn't see any reason to. You outsmarted him back then, why not now?”

“Is that how you found me? You didn't just hear about me, you sought me out.”

“Someone in the office was already looking at you when I came across your name in a certain file. That is why I went to see you in person, to make sure it wasn't simply a classmate rivalry that made you go after him. Then I got you the position you're in now because I liked you. I think you're exactly what this office needs. So, yes your past with him put you on my radar but it was your skill that got you in your office.”

You chewed your lip as you looked through the mirror at the man who made your blood run cold all those years ago. “He’s going to set a stage and create a build up that leads to the ultimate humiliation. He delights in crushing their souls and watching everything he doesn't understand, and hates because of it, seep from their eyes. The question you need to ask yourself is what does he think would be Sherlock’s ultimate humiliation, something he couldn't come back from. He doesn't want Sherlock to have a chance to dig out of it.”

Then suddenly a thought came to you. It wasn't close to his MO at all but it was too close to when you stripped him of his ultimate payoff. “My parents?”

He sighed and you turned your head to face him, “there was nothing that pointed to any kind of foul play.”

“Tell me honestly, Mycroft. No government classified bullshit, did he have a hand in that accident?”

“I can't tell you that. The police reports… by all accounts, it was just another drunk driver.”

You clenched your jaw and couldn't help but wonder if James Moriarty had punished you for ruining his plans. “Watch yourself. The arrogant are always easy to play.” You turned and strode to the door.

“Have you been teaching my little brother any of those tricks?”

You opened the door, “fuck off.”

“How did you ever last in any job speaking to your superiors in such a way?” He called as you stepped out into the hallway.

You turned and grabbed the doorknob, smiling at him, “by being indispensable and knowing what my superiors like.” His brow hiked up, “you love a fiery personality and a great game.” The smirk grew slowly as you said, “and someone who will call you out on your shit because we all know your assistant won’t.”

He smiled. “Lovely to see you as always.”

You pulled the door shut behind you and walked down the hallway knowing two things for sure; Mycroft knew more than he was letting on and there was a bigger plan in play here. Neither one made you feel any better.


	3. Chapter 3

The last few weeks had been tough on you. The signs of Christmas were everywhere and impossible to ignore. You hadn’t been affected like this in years and yet you were missing your parents so much, you were wound up too tight. You had to calm yourself and clear your mind almost every morning once you got into your office, calling on techniques your favorite Psychology professor, Patrick Harding, had given you after your parents’ sudden death during your senior year at the University of Pennsylvania.  

You had learned that you could survive more than you thought but it took a toll. Professor Harding ended up being the one to pull you from your funk and get you moving again. He brought books and tons of pamphlets of other psychology programs that fit your interests. He helped you through the stages of grief and guided you toward your saving grace; something to live for.

He brought Shelley by to see you and as hard as you tried to lock up your grief to keep from hurting her, you couldn’t do it but she sat down next to you and rubbed your back. She had learned to control it to a certain extent and she wanted to thank you because if you hadn’t reached out to her and listened then she never would have gotten this far. It had only been three months and you were amazed by her progress.

You left for Oxford only two months later and never left England since except for the few visits back to your alma mater. You had flourished in the new environment and fell in love with the culture that was so much like what you grew up with and yet completely different. That first Christmas had been rough but since then, you had handled it well except for a few stray Christmas Eve’s here and there when you didn’t have work to distract you from the traditions you held with your parents.

This year, however, the heavy feeling in your chest had started earlier than ever and work didn’t seem to make it go away completely. You tried to sort it out and only came up with two conclusions, either you were more worried about this Moriarty business or the thing you thought you were handling was handling you. Either way, you weren’t as in control as you usually were and you were beginning to feel it.

Mycroft hadn’t said a word about Moriarty since you confronted him and you didn’t know if he was still holding him. It was a classified matter and you weren’t needed at the time for any further consultation. You noticed Mycroft’s scrutiny ever since that confrontation as well, especially whenever Sherlock’s name came up. It wasn’t very often but enough for you to take notice and for you to keep your mouth zipped about the fact that Sherlock knew of Moriarty already.

Even though you had done your meditation technique before your appointment with Sherlock, Mycroft was still on your mind as you sat in your chair across from the couch. Sherlock was sitting with his left leg crossed neatly over his right knee. Luckily, his attention was elsewhere as he had rambled about his most recent case but only half-heartedly before he grew quiet and stared toward the window. His face wasn’t in its usual blank slate though because his brow never relaxed.

Almost a full ten minutes had passed in silence before he spoke again. “I met…” he searched for the word then finally with a quick inhale said, “someone.”

“That’s great. What’s she like?”

His head turned back toward you. “Why did you automatically think it was a woman?”

“The look on your face when you said it. I’m sorry, are you bi-sexual?”

He tilted his head with that inquisitive look, “why does that even matter?”

“You said you met someone and the way you said it came off as someone you were attracted to.” His lip twitched and you clarified, “someone that obviously held your attention for at least a month or two leads me to the conclusion that she is quite an interesting case indeed.”

He frowned and looked away again. “She confounds me, yes. Intriguing.”

You laughed, “so, why all the crap for being right?”

He grinned as he turned his focus back to you. “Because it’s fun.”

“So, tell me about this woman.” You leaned forward resting your elbow on your knee.

“She’s found a way to use her… intelligence and other skills to make her way through the world rather differently. She’s learned how to play the world to her strengths. Of course, it’s criminal what she’s doing.”

“The detective has the hots for a criminal?” Shock flashed across his face and you rushed out.  “Oh god, I’m sorry.” You chuckled nervously, then cleared your throat. “Sorry, that was completely unprofessional. Go on.”

He quirked his eyebrow and smirked, “she, however, is bi-sexual and very clever.”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. She fascinates you. Wait, was this The Woman case? Did you seriously go into Buckingham Palace naked?” The corner of his mouth quirked up, “you did!” You chuckled, “I bet Mycroft was spitting.”

“And I stole an ashtray. For Watson, of course.”

You smirked, “aren’t you full of surprises?” You glanced down at your pad and frowned, “sorry, you were talking about The Woman.” You shook your head, “I mean a woman.”

His brow scrunched together for a second before he continued. “I’m guessing you saw my brother’s report then?”

You raised your brow, “the report isn’t about you and this time is for you.”

His eyes narrowed slightly before he continued. “Irene Adler drugged me and I didn’t see it coming. She’s been texting me since that night so I can’t really get her out of my head for long before another text comes along.”

“She’s good. So, why not go for it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Go have some fun.”

He tapped his fingers on the couch and cleared his throat, “that’s not really my thing.”

“Do you not have a sex drive?”

“I have a healthy sex drive, thank you, but I prefer to use that energy for more constructive purposes.” He looked away, “and it becomes too much of an issue.”

“Sex?”

“No, the thing that usually comes with it.”

“You mean a relationship. Ms. Adler doesn’t seem like a relationship type person.”

He dropped his gaze to his leg. “Caring isn’t an advantage.”

He fiddled with the hem of his pant as you replied. “Well, I suppose that’s how some would look at it but I believe that would be based on the person’s belief. Does sex have to have a relationship attached to it? Does caring go hand and hand with sex or can it just be a type of release between two consenting adults?”

His gaze flicked up to yours as if you had just completely misunderstood him.

You met his gaze. “Everyone has different answers, it just comes down to the person’s beliefs. Sex can be a form of intimate connection, being laid bare before someone and letting them see you in a way that not many others get to, or a bodily function that like others needs release at certain times to clear out the system. Each one has different variations to a certain extent and advantages and disadvantages but it really all comes down to your belief and position that makes it important. What advantage are you talking about?”

He was staring at you with his mouth open just enough to breathe through then cleared his throat. “Caring… sentiment clouds the mind and brings bias to facts. I’ve explained how emotions are grit…”

You raised your brow. “What about Mrs. Hudson?”

His face twisted into horrified confusion. “What about her?”

You shook your head. “You care about her. And John.” You watched him for a moment. “What if someone were to hurt them? What would you do?”

“Why would anyone hurt them?”

“I’m sure you’ve tackled some dangerous cases, or even just a few disgruntled people caught in the act, what if one of these people decided to pay a visit to the flat and hurts them because you’re not home? What would you do?”

He thought about it for less than ten seconds before he ground out. “I’d make sure they never made the same mistake again.”

You smirked, “without the violent undertones, let’s say you’d be upset. Very upset that someone you cared about was harmed. Caring isn’t about advantage, caring comes with companionship. Most people are not wired to be single ships, we crave contact. You see an intelligent mind in a beautiful body and there’s nothing wrong with that. Although I will say, be careful who you give your care to. Sociopaths can make attachments but it’s different and difficult. Those people would have to understand how special it is that they get your respect and trust. If I were speaking as a friend, I’d say it was sacred.”

He stared at you and you had a hard time keeping your breathing normal. “I’ve never heard anyone speak about me like you.”

You sat back and straightened up. “Sorry, it was just my opinion.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot recently.”

“What?”

“Apologizing during our sessions.”

Your alarm softly jingled. “Well, that’s all the time for today, I have an important meeting…” you stood up and Sherlock grasped your wrist gently. Your heart pounded and you silently cursed yourself.

“Will you come to John’s Christmas eve party? We’re having a few people over.”

You pulled your arm from the circle of his hand slowly. “I… I would love to but I don’t think I could.”

“Going to visit family?”

You tried not to cringe at the mention. “It would be easy to lie and say yes, but no. I’m sorry, I can’t see clients like that… It’s unprofessional and I…”

“You say that a lot too. Why do you apologize for being interested?”

Your eyes widened before you dropped your gaze and forced a smile. “Because I’m not allowed to… I think you’re interesting and funny and seeing your mind at work is a brilliant thing but I’m not supposed to see clients like that, there has to be a boundary, a separation, and I have a hard time of that already.” You glanced up, “to be honest, I probably shouldn’t even see you as a client anymore.”

“Then don’t. Come as a friend. Christmas Eve. 221B Baker Street. 7pm.”

You held your pad of paper against your chest and smirked. “Sherlock Holmes has friends?” You looked away before he could answer and walked over to your desk. “Let me see what I can do. I can’t promise anything but,” you looked up at him with a soft smile, “I would love to.”

He walked to the door and gripped the handle but didn’t open it. “I never saw a therapist before and I wouldn’t have come here if I hadn’t met you. I don’t see the need for one, the only reason I kept coming was you. I enjoy talking with you. You’re intriguing because I can never quite predict what you’ll say or how you’ll react to something.” He finally turned his head and looked at you. “You’re a puzzle.”

You watched him from behind your desk with a tightness in your chest. “Thank you.”

“There’s nothing written on your paper.” He pointed at you and you glanced down realizing you had the back of it against your chest.

“I never write anything down for you.” You tapped your temple. “Mycroft can’t get in here, no matter how stealthy he thinks he is.”

He smiled as he opened the door, “I hope you’ll be able to make it.”

You nodded and he walked out the door. You sat down in your chair and released the breath you had been holding as you looked at your pad of paper. It was true that you hadn’t been writing anything down for a while now but it wasn’t because you worried about his brother. You stopped making notes during his sessions after you found out about Moriarty’s favorite subject.

You unlocked your file cabinet and pulled out his file then walked over to the shredder. You fed the pages into the machine one by one before inserting the folder itself then removed the trash bag and tied it up. You carried it over to the coat rack and dropped it so you wouldn’t forget to take it to a trash can on another floor when you left for the day.

Sherlock Holmes was no longer your client and you’d be damned if any of your notes ended up in the wrong hands.

~~

Your phone rang and you groped for it blindly until you peeked through your heavy eyelids to find it. You stabbed the green button as you rolled back over and pressed it to your ear. “It’s too damn early, what is it?”

“Merry Christmas. Is it too early for a professional opinion?”

Your eyes snapped open. “Sherlock?”

“I didn’t hear from you last night.”

“I'm…” Remembering his session from last week you cringed, “sorry. I got pulled into the wo… A case and didn’t get released until the middle of the night. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t asleep.”

“I should’ve known. Working late on a case?”

“In a manner of speaking. I received a distraction at just the right moment. Irene Adler sent me a puzzle.”

You chuckled but it sounded flat even to your own ears. “She really knows how to read you, doesn’t she?”

“Hmm. Where did they find the body?”

You sighed, “even if I knew, you know I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

He was quiet as you stared out the window and heard the sounds of traffic through the phone. “So, how did the party go?”

“I made a few too many quick deductions and… spectacularly embarrassed someone. I apologized to her but… I don’t think it could possibly help anything.”

“Wow, that’s a huge step for you.”

“What?”

“You noticed she was uncomfortable and you apologized. You openly showed that you felt bad for her.”

“Yes. Seems to make things more difficult.”

“And yet, you’re not pulling away.”

“I left rather abruptly.”

You smirked, “that’s not what I mean. You apologized, I mean you’re practically a beacon for social graces now.” He was quiet but you wondered if it made him smile. You took a breath and released it as the next thought slipped from your mouth. “You called me even though you had no need…”

“I needed to talk to someone who wouldn’t ask a bunch of meaningless questions. And the judgment thing. You know shit about the way the mind works, right?”

You grinned into your pillow. “I thought we discussed that I couldn’t be your therapist?”

“Because you are a friend. Yes, that conflict of interest was troubling but we cleared it up.”

“A shitty friend that stood you up.”

“You do love that word, don’t you? I think we’ll work quite nicely then since I tend to aggravate my only friend all the time.”

“I thought we were friends?”

“My only other friend.”

You barked out a laugh, “at the rate you’re going, you’re going to have to delete only from that phrase.”

~~

You sat at your desk reading through the files Mycroft had given you wishing that you had fought a little harder not to be on his short list for this case. The amount of information on Irene Adler’s phone had been staggering and as one of the few people that Mycroft fully trusted, you were splitting the work with only five other people including Mycroft himself. The stack in your locked bottom drawer was still full.

A knock at your door pulled you from your ninth file and it took a second to focus on a face instead of words and encrypted text. Sherlock poked his head inside and glanced at the files in front of you. “Busy?”

“Please come in. I’m very good at multitasking and hopefully, you could keep me from falling asleep.”

He paced around the room keeping a polite distance from your desk as he rambled about a case before he paused and dropped to the couch. You glanced up and he was staring toward the window again.

You made it through a few more pages of text along with a few photographs of safe houses when he finally spoke.

“She played me but she fell in love with me. How could anyone fall in love with me?”

You looked up but he was still staring at the window. His words were off track with his normal rhythm. You placed your pen down and stood from the desk then walked over to the chair. You stopped yourself from sitting and leaned on the chair back. “One, I don’t believe for a second you have that low of an opinion of yourself, but fine, I’ll play.” His gaze shifted to yours and his left brow quirked up. “Love is one of those words that gets thrown around so much that some people have lost its true meaning. Love has become this thing that changes definitions from person to person or songwriter to poet but love, psychologically speaking, is a strong desire for connection with another person. Not lust, attraction, or sexual desire, but love. It is entirely possible for someone to come to love you unless their brain can’t make those connections.” He studied you, listening with a small pinch in his forehead. You smiled, “you have a lot going for you, Sherlock. There’s no reason to think that you couldn’t have love some day.”

He grimaced. “I just had a very brilliant example thrown in my face as a deterrent so believe me when I say I don’t think love will ever be a problem for me.”

You shrugged and walked back to your desk. “Okay.” Instead of continuing to your chair, you turned and propped your hip on the corner of your desk. “By the way, how is Mrs. Hudson? I heard she got hurt not too long ago.” You bit your cheek to smother your grin at his look of surprise.

He stood from the couch and stalked toward you. His face was blank but heat coiled low in your abdomen at the look in his eyes. He stopped in front of you, his gaze raking over your face, “how can I predict what you’ll say at times but not at others?”

“Because I’m an enigma.” Your gaze flicked to his mouth and you forced it back to his eyes, “or I just know how your mind works so I flip the script on you, just for fun.” You leaned toward him following a pull in your gut but panicked at the last second. You whispered, “this is the worst possible place for this.”

“For what?” He tilted his head down and his eyes bored into yours.

You searched for anything that could pump the brakes and saw the slight tan line on his neck and remembered Mycroft talking about the terrorists’ video of Irene Adler losing her head in Karachi last week. Your gaze met his again. “How was your trip to Karachi?”

His brow furrowed then he smiled, “you’ve been practicing.”

You leaned back with a quick inhale. “Tell me you finally slept with her because honestly, I don’t want to hear that you passed up that opportunity.”

A soft grin curved his lips as he took a step back, “a gentleman never tells.”

You walked around your desk and sat in your chair. “I’ll have to add that to the list of things to thank your parents for someday then.”

“But that would take away some of my mystery.”

You picked up your pen and continued through the document but you couldn’t see a word. Your mind was still too fuzzy. “What would Sherlock Holmes be without the mystery?”

“Boring.” He continued walking back toward the couch and you forced your breath in and out in a normal pace.

“Funny, I was thinking more along the lines of just a drama queen but you know, apples and oranges.” You looked up with a smile and your chest tightened at the look on his face as he looked out the window.

He gave you a tight smile as he turned and headed for the door. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

You bit your lip trying to decide what you wanted. He opened the door and started out when you finally said, “Sherlock?” He paused mid stride and looked at you. “Would you… is that invitation still open?” His brow furrowed and you cleared your throat, “the invitation to come to Baker Street. See the room where it happens.” You cleared your throat, “the case solving.”

He smiled, “anytime. I can’t promise I’ll be completely present, though.”

“How about tonight? I’m free after work.”

There was a hint of a smile as he replied, “I look forward to it.”

“Okay.”

He nodded and walked out closing the door behind him. You stared down at the five files in front of you with a knot in your chest and a rush of excitement that renewed your interest in getting them marked as quickly as possible.  


	4. Chapter 4

You wrapped your coat tighter even though it wasn’t all that cold then stepped up to 221B Baker Street. With another deep breath, you grasped the knocker and smacked it twice. You noticed the bell and remembered Sherlock telling you about shooting it once.

The minutes felt like forever and part of you wanted to walk away, but you remained standing in front of the door. It’s just a friendly hangout. Hangout? Who the hell says hangout anymore?

The door opened and an older woman smiled in greeting. “Hi, you must be Mrs. Hudson!” You stuck your hand out and she took it gingerly.

“Hello, come in.” She nodded her head as she released your hand and waved you inside.

“I’m here for Sherlock.” You tilted your head down to hide the cringe.

She smiled as she closed the door. “Sherlock and John are upstairs working on a case.” She frowned, “is it a cheating boyfriend? You’re much too pretty to deal with that, dear.”

Your brow furrowed, “oh no, thank you but I’m his… Friend.”

She barked out a laugh then covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, dear I thought you…” She paused watching you for some sign but then her whole face brightened. “Oh, look at my manners! Come on now, upstairs.” She made her way over to the stairs and started up turning her head to speak with you as she climbed, “what’s your name and how did you meet Sherlock?”

“Y/n, and ah, we bumped into each other near my office.”

“Oh, how lovely.”  You followed her around the first landing and up another flight of stairs.

“Sherlock!” She opened the door, “you have a guest.” She walked in and waved you forward.

You stepped through the door taking everything in, it was a lot like you expected. Cluttered yet everything seemed to have its place. A sandy-haired man you recognized from his blog sat at a desk in front of a laptop staring at you. “Hi, John.” His brow furrowed, “sorry, I’ve heard so much about you I feel like I know you.” You walked over and held out your hand, “I’m y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

John took your hand and shook it staring up at you in a quiet confusion. “Are you a client?”

You chuckled.

“She’s Sherlock’s friend.” Mrs. Hudson said from the doorway. John threw a glance at her before turning his eyes back to you.

You cleared your throat, “yes. You started a bit of a trend.”

Creaking wood behind you made you turn around. Sherlock was stepping off a table situated in front of a couch. The wall behind him was covered in papers. He smiled as he walked over to you, “John seems to have forgotten his manners. Do you want to sit? Maybe some tea?”

“Sure.”

Mrs. Hudson laughed again and you smirked. “I take it you didn’t tell them I was coming.”

He stopped in front of you with a sly grin. “I wasn’t absolutely sure you were.”

“Will I ever live that down?”

“Y/n? The therapist?” John asked.

Sherlock smirked before he walked around you and headed into the kitchen.

“It’s nice to finally meet you after hearing so much from the most talkative people in London,” John remarked as he stood from the desk.

Sherlock turned in the kitchen doorway, “who?”

John threw him a look. “You and your brother.”

Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen as you replied. “Oh god, please don’t listen to anything Mycroft says about me.”

“Don’t worry, I usually try not to take anything he says too seriously.”

John walked toward you and gestured to the couch. You took off your coat and looked for somewhere to put it. “I’ll take it.” John held out his hand then glanced at Mrs. Hudson who still stood in the doorway. “Mrs. Hudson?”

She smiled then shook her head, “right. If you need anything, I’ll be right downstairs.” She smiled at you before nodding to John and closing the door.

John turned back to you, “sorry, I’m a little thrown too, but I think I should probably thank you.”

“What for?”

“For the moments I’ve seen a different side to that one.” He threw a glance toward the kitchen.

You smiled, “that’s you. You’re good for him.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure.” He rolled his eyes.

“No, really. You’re the first person he’s trusted enough to be himself around. That’s the highest compliment you could get from him. You’ve done more for him than he will ever admit.”

John glanced into the kitchen. “Has he talked about The Woman? Should I be worried?”

You smiled. “No, he’ll be fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you were his therapist?”

Sherlock walked back into the room with a serving tray full of tea items, “sort of therapist.”

You laughed as you took a seat on the couch, “true. He only took another patient’s appointment one day and just kept showing up after.” You narrowed your eyes at him, “I still think you did something to that agent.”

Sherlock placed the tray on the table, “I simply pointed out a few things and Mycroft reminded him of the policy against inter-office dating.”

“Oh my god.” Your jaw dropped, “Galen?” Sherlock raised his brow clearly not convinced of your shock and you smiled, “I never did thank you for that. It was getting awkward and he didn’t catch the hints.”

John glanced between the two of you, “so, why aren’t you his therapist now?”

You glanced up at Sherlock as he passed you a cup of tea. “Conflict of interest. I have to keep a boundary between my patients, but recently…”

“Since November.” Sherlock corrected.

You smirked, “since I realized that I couldn’t keep that line anymore especially after Sherlock invited me to the Christmas party as a friend.”

“You were supposed to be here that night?” John turned to Sherlock, “I knew there was something going on and I just brushed it off to those bloody texts!”

“I, unfortunately, got caught at work but Sherlock and I have kept in contact.”

John gazed at Sherlock, “a friend.”

Sherlock looked at him, clearly amused, “yes, I thought we established that.”

John's gaze dropped to the tea pot, “I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that Sherlock was really talking to a psychologist all this time. When Mycroft mentioned you I thought he was having a laugh.”

“She’s an expert in her field. How else do you think Mycroft would have found her? The things that she can detect just by watching a face in an interview is fascinating.” Sherlock was staring at the wall behind you as he spoke.

You leaned back on the couch, “it’s more than that but I’m curious, can you tell me about the latest case?” You glanced around again then stood and turned to look at the wall. “The Falls of Reichenbach. I take it this isn’t an artistic choice?”

“You know that painting by sight?” Sherlock asked, his gaze momentarily leaving the wall.

You glanced over your shoulder, “my father was a painter.”

“Oh.”

“Did you know anything about her?” John whispered as he leaned toward him.

“Apparently not as much as you think I should.” Sherlock stepped toward the couch as you looked over your shoulder.

“You do know I can hear you both. I’m only two feet away.”

John blushed and Sherlock simply smiled then went into a full detail of the case of the missing masterpiece before something shook loose and he darted off to his room. You watched him go surprised and yet in awe.

“He does that a lot,” John said as he grabbed his coat. “Sorry, this was so short. He’ll probably rush out once he has whatever he went to look for.”

“It’s okay. I know how it works.”

Sherlock ran back out into the sitting room before pulling open the door and looking at you, “rain check?”

You smirked, “as long as you let Christmas Eve go.”

He nodded, “done.” Then he was out the door. John smiled and threw up his hand in an awkward wave before he pulled the door shut behind him.

You stood there feeling slightly like a voyeur looking around without them there. Two minutes later as you were pulling on your coat, the door opened and Mrs. Hudson walked in. “Did he really just leave you?”

You smiled, “it’s okay. I know how he is.”

She looked down at the tea sitting untouched on the table, “you didn’t even get to drink your tea. That boy…” She tsked, “he’s always dashing about.”

“It’s okay, really.” You watched her walk over and pick up the tray. “I don’t have any other plans tonight. Would you like to have tea with me? I’ve heard a bit about you too and it would be lovely to get to really know you.”

Her face warmed, “Sherlock talked about me?”

“Well, yes of course.”

She pressed her hand to her chest, “I would love to.”

You pulled your coat off and sat back down with a smile, “I’m sure you have tons of great stories.”

She laughed as she poured tea into an empty cup. “There’s never a quiet day around here.”

~~

John walked out into the sitting room and paused when he noticed the figure sitting on the couch. “Y/n? Hi.”

She looked up from the file in her lap. “Morning, John.”

He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it and walked into the kitchen. Sherlock was standing in front of the kettle. “Y/n’s back, huh?”

“Water leak in her flat.”

John glanced out the door. “What is the story there?”

“We’re friends.”

John watched him. “Yes, you’ve said that.”

“Then why do I have to keep repeating it?”

“Just surprised she’s here again after you dashed off on her three nights ago.”

“She doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Right.” John glanced at the tea tray, “since when do you make tea?”

“I made tea just last week." John waited and Sherlock amended, "since Mrs. Hudson refused to do it.”

John’s brow hiked up, “she what?”

Sherlock lifted the tray and walked out into the sitting room. John poked his head out of the kitchen doorway and watched as Sherlock placed the tray down and she smiled up at him. They didn’t exchange a word before Sherlock walked over to his chair, picked up his violin, and began playing as her head bent back over her file.

John moved back into the kitchen and spotted Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs slowly. He frowned at her and went to ask her what she was doing but she looked at him and placed her pointer finger against her lips. His brow scrunched together and she quickly made her way to him. “She’s back again.” Mrs. Hudson whispered.

“Yes, I know. What are you doing?” John whispered.

“I just wanted to see.”

“Nothing. They’re not even sitting together. Why am I whispering?”

She walked into the kitchen craning her neck to see through the other doorway. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Sherlock has a friend.”

“I’m his friend.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” She rolled her eyes and continued trying to look through the doorway.

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock called and she jumped. John jolted as well and then shook his head.

“Yes, sherlock?”

“While you’re in there, maybe you could make John some tea and biscuits. He was complaining.”

She turned to him and he snapped, “I was not.”

They heard the soft laughter from the sitting room couch and both looked at each other. Mrs. Hudson smiled as she moved to the kettle. “I really like this one.”

“What one? She’s the only one he’s ever…”

Mrs. Hudson shrugged, “doesn’t matter.”

~~

John was scrolling through comments on his blog as Sherlock laid out on the couch with his eyes closed and his hands pressed together at his chin. He glanced back at Y/n who sat curled up in Sherlock’s chair reading a novel.

John turned his chair around, unable to keep quiet any longer but he lowered his voice so he wouldn’t disturb sherlock. “So, you’re here a lot. Don’t get many social calls with the intelligence community? Of course with people like Mycroft working with you, I guess it’s a bit uptight.” 

Y/n pulled a bookmark from her lap and closed the book. “Mycroft is something else but no, not many people at work ask me to go out unless they want me along to tell them if someone is into them.” Her brow furrowed, “did Sherlock not tell you he invited me to come over whenever?”

“No, but he forgets to tell people a lot of things.”

“A leak in my sitting room started it and then the new tenant above me. It’s been a mess, you guys don’t know how lucky you are with Mrs. Hudson. I've spent a few nights on the couch in my office just for some peace without riverdance above me.”

He glanced over at the man lying perfectly still before looking back at her. “So, the thing he mentioned about faces?”

She rolled her eyes with a smirk. “Cognitive behavior and micro expressions, that’s my area of expertise.”

“So, why does Mycroft need, or the British government need a psychologist?”

She shrugged. “Why not?

“And you’re American...”

“We’ve always been allies. Well, mostly.”

His face screwed up as he tried to get his question out. “Yes but,”

She chuckled, “you’re wondering why I came here and took a job from Mycroft?”

He glanced down looking slightly embarrassed. “Yes.”

“I wanted to experience something different so, I took a few semesters abroad and ended up staying to finish my doctorate here. I got a job with a law firm and it didn’t go exactly as I planned. I thought it would be different but they only had me picking up the slack on crappy cases where there was either little to no evidence or the police were just overworked and didn’t have the time. I thought I’d be helping people but most of the cases they put me on, well, settling justice wasn’t really my cup of tea. It wasn’t enough, I liked the personal connection with one on one counseling. So, when Mycroft showed up all mystery and drama then offered me a position as a forensic psychologist that would also allow me to actually help people, it’s just the people in the building but it was better than what I had. And Mycroft surprised me. I didn’t think a government agent would be like that.”

John shook his head with a soft chuckle. “No one thinks anyone will be like that.”

“I don’t know, I’d expect an actor to be like that. I actually thought maybe they had hired someone to give me the offer. Not that the boss himself would show up like that.”

John narrowed his eyes. “I can’t even imagine it, Mycroft as a boss.”

“Dreadful. Let’s go, John!” Sherlock jumped up and rushed toward the door.

John stood up, “it’s nice having you around, by the way.”

“It’s nice being around.” She smiled.

“John!” Sherlock called out from the stairs.

“You should probably run.”

“Right.”

Y/n waved chuckling as she picked up her book again.

John rushed down the stairs to Sherlock, “you know it’s nice having someone else around to talk to sometimes.”

Sherlock only smiled as he pulled his coat over his arms and went out the front door.

~~

It surprised you how quickly you felt at home at 221B. After the seemingly never-ending list of problems at your flat that even you thought was ridiculously excessive had you spending as much time away from the place as possible, Sherlock had insisted you come here anytime you wanted. Even if, by chance, your flat wasn't burning down somehow.  _I said anytime and I meant it. John likes you, don’t worry_.

It was true, the more time that you were there, the closer you felt with John through your conversations with and without Sherlock. John was becoming a good friend and for the first time, that didn’t scare you.

It had been hard to make real connections after your parents’ death and you had kept the few you had at arm’s length. Professor Harding was the closest thing you had to family considering your aunt was rarely available to chat not that she talked much before your mother died anyway. You were still in contact with a few colleagues from Oxford and spoke with one professor but they were nothing more than acquaintances even after all the time you spent together.

Yet here you were, laying down in an empty sitting room that belonged to someone you had met not even two years prior feeling completely at ease. You wondered how your parents would’ve liked them, could practically picture the look your mother would have given you after she met Sherlock and you were sure she would’ve been able to guess your feelings toward him. Your father, on the other hand, would’ve been intrigued by Sherlock and maybe a little concerned but you were sure he would’ve liked both of them. Maybe that was why you felt so comfortable here.

You tried to focus on the words on the page in front of you but your mind kept slipping and your eyes were becoming so heavy. You knew you should put the book down and go but the idea of leaving the soothing warmth you were engulfed in seemed impossible. Your eyes fell closed and you figured a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Whispered voices pierced the fog and something warm covered you.

“What?”

“You… you know what, never mind. I’m going to take a shower then go to bed.”

Quiet movement around you made you roll over but you had the hardest time lifting your eyes. The smell of soft leather and something more masculine than you ever had in your flat pulled you from the last bits of sleep. After a soft clack of china nearby, your eyes fluttered open to a face hovering above yours. You jolted until Sherlock finally came into focus. You glanced around and got your bearings then brushed the hair out of your face before looking back up at him. “I’m still in your apartment… flat. I fell asleep again. I’ll just get my things…”

He sat down next to you, “you shouldn’t be out there this late. Not that I don’t think you can handle yourself.”

Your brow furrowed, “I just closed my eyes for a few minutes, it’s only a little after eleven.”

“One thirty.” You closed your eyes and sighed. “You can stay here.” You snapped your eyes open and looked at him, he was reading your face but you didn’t know what he was looking for.

“What?” Your voice came out as a whisper, your skin heating up under his attention.

“It was nice. You being here. I usually need a distraction,” at your confused look he elaborated, “search for something new, the next case or something to…”

“Didn’t you just solve a case? You solved it, didn’t you?” You cleared your throat and swallowed, trying to stay in control of yourself.

Sherlock got up and left the room then returned with a cup of tea in his hand. “Sometimes it’s worse after a case is solved, knowing I have nothing to work on. Nothing to do, but you were here and I didn’t feel the itch.”

You accepted the cup and sipped from it just to have something to do, give you time to process what he was saying. He sat next to you, his body turned your way and the heat pooled in your stomach. “I distracted you?”

“Yes.” His voice had lowered and had a husky tone that thrummed inside you.

“Are you sure I should stay then?” You looked away from his penetrating gaze, “I wouldn’t want to take your attention off something important.”

His fingers brushed over your shoulder, sweeping your hair back and then he traced your jawline and you turned your head to face him. “You misunderstand.” He smirked as he traced a line down the side of your neck then along your collarbone, “distraction is very good and very important.”

The two of you had been dancing like this for weeks, ever since that day in your office but never crossing that final line. You released a breath, “Sherlock.”

He was still leaning in when he whispered, “is this okay?”

Your voice caught in your throat and you nodded. Your lips parted with a quick inhale when his gaze fell to your mouth. You closed your eyes and then his lips were against yours, soft and tentative.

“Sherlock, did you…”

You pulled back at John’s voice and almost dropped the tea cup in your hands. Sherlock simply shifted and turned his head, “yes?”

John’s mouth was hanging open and you almost laughed because you understood him exactly. “Right.” He closed his mouth and pulled a perfect about-face and walked out.

A giggle broke your lips and you slapped your hand over your mouth. Sherlock turned his head your way and a grin spread across his face before the laughter started. “Kiss many girls on your couch?”

He shook his head as he leaned forward and took the cup from your hand before placing it down on the table. He came back to you with a small smile, his eyes trailing heat over your face again. His hand brushed over your cheek before combing through your hair and cupping the back of your head pulling you forward, “but I’d like to do it more often.” His lips found yours and your hands slipped around his neck holding on tight as he stirred up a fire inside.

A stray thought whispered through your mind as he leaned you back down on the couch, his hands exploring further down, you knew what this could lead to, but could you really come back from it? You know how he views sex, the ideals for him, and you know what loving a sociopath is like.

You shoved the thought away as you encouraged Sherlock on, your hands roaming and searching for pleasure points as he worked you like a finely tuned violin. It didn’t matter because you knew before tonight how you felt about him and nothing would change that. This was what you wanted and if Sherlock wanted it too then why shouldn’t you have a little fun? It was time to turn the psychologist off and just be the girl attracted to the intelligent man running his hands over your body like a fucking expert and kissing you into a fiery explosion.

“You sure you’ve never done this before?” You whimpered as you floated down back to earth completely baffled that you both were still dressed.

You could feel his grin against your neck. “My first hands-on experiment.”

“Bless those hands.” You grabbed his face and brought his lips to yours. “My turn.”

He hummed against your lips and then chuckled as you pushed him up into a sitting position before straddling his lap. “You’d make. A horrible. Dance partner.” His husky voice broke through between kisses.

You moved to the side of his neck searching for areas of interest on him. You found one as you sucked lightly, “why’s that?” You whispered against his wet skin and smirked at his reaction.

“You’re not very good at letting someone else…” His voice hitched as you rolled your hips against his lap. He swallowed thickly before staring into your eyes, his pupils growing. “Lead.”

You ghosted your hand down his side and slipped your finger in his belt loop. “I’ll admit I’m a bit competitive.” You smirked as you pulled the belt free from its buckle then gasped when he flipped you over onto your back again.

“So am I.”

“Maybe we should move this somewhere…” You glanced toward the hall.

He leaned down until his body was just barely against yours. “Where’s the thrill in that?”

Your eyes flicked back and forth between his as tension coiled once again in your lower abdomen. “We could be very bad for each other.”

“I’m counting on it.” His mouth was already on yours before you could pull him down.  

Maybe it was just a distraction, but it was the best damn distraction you could ever remember.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lines borrowed from the episode The Reichenbach Fall in BOLD.*

Sherlock stood in front of the window in the sitting room playing his violin as he worked out the Ricoletti case in his head. You sat with John at the kitchen table, he had just finished telling you how Sherlock had deduced that his sister had left her wife and was an alcoholic all from the phone she had given him except he called her his brother.

You were still laughing softly when he looked up from his coffee and asked, “what about you? Sherlock tell you your family history during a chat in the office before you could bring them up?”

You shook your head, “no. I was still keeping my professional boundaries.”

“Oh, well, naturally.” John glanced toward the kitchen doorway.

You smiled as you sipped your tea. “My mother was a university professor and as you know my father was a painter.”

“No siblings?”

You shook your head, “no. I was tough enough.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“Oh, not that I was a bad child,” you smirked and amended, “I’m sure I had my moments. My father was diagnosed a sociopath in the late 80’s. The research wasn’t there at the time and psychopath and sociopath were still interchangeable. My parents had a hard time because they had to fight to keep me once he was diagnosed.”  

He frowned, “what happened?”

“We won the case because the state couldn’t prove that my father was ever harmful to me thanks to my mom’s best friend who was a phenomenal lawyer.” You looked through the doorway to Sherlock still playing his violin. “He would zone out like that when he painted but my mother never left me alone with him when he’d plan on painting. He knew how he could be and he wanted me so he always worked hard and tried his best.”

He smiled. “Wow, so you have a unique insight into Sherlock’s condition.”

“You mean his sociopathic tendencies?”

John glanced over at Sherlock. “I’ve been wanting to ask you ever since we met but if it goes against your doctor-patient privilege…”

“He’s not my patient anymore.”

His gaze dropped to the table with a nervous chuckle. “Right. Mycroft and I had talked about Sherlock once, Sherlock doesn’t feel things like others but Mycroft said that Sherlock had the mind of a scientist or philosopher and yet he’s a detective.” His brow creased as he fiddled with his cup.

You smirked, “John, what are trying to ask?”

He chewed his cheek for a moment before glancing at Sherlock again. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you can’t see him.”

“What?”

“It’s just I always believed he didn’t feel emotions and things like that as part… of his sociopathic tendencies but,”

“John, I feel like you know the answer to this question already. Do you think he is anti-social?”

He frowned. “Well, in certain respects.”

“He has a highly logical mind but he can still read people, deduce their habits from a few markers, he’s studied them and knows how people will react to certain things. Just because he doesn’t want to waste his time being polite all the time doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand. He had a very secluded childhood with Mycroft and he found a way to survive in a world where he was different and treated like he was something wrong and yet he chose a profession that helps people. He tries when he cares and when it benefits him or a case but have you ever seen him be outright unjust to someone, truthfully?” You watched as he thought it over. “You have seen him learn, you’ve seen him try to make up for accidental pain he’s caused.” John looked at you and you smirked, “he told me what happened at the Christmas party. He’s not a psychopath, he can feel empathy but with a mind like his, that empathy only reveals itself when the people matter, whether it be a case or a friend.”

John’s eyes widened, “I take back what I said, British intelligence is lucky to have you.”

You leaned forward and touched his hand, “John, you see him like no one else because he trusts you and lets you in. You understand him more because you care for him and you see all different sides of him because you give him a chance unlike most who judge him immediately. Why should he waste valuable time on people who call him a freak because he’s intelligent and spent years of his life studying, gathering information, honing his skills, and becoming the expert that he is? He works to make society a better place even though most of society never gave him anything but grief.” John’s brow furrowed and you smiled, “your stories have allowed people to see him like you see him. You once told him that people reading his unsolved cases makes him more human to them but you, John Watson, you make him human to them. You show them that he’s a brilliant man who sees things differently and helps those who really need it.”

John gazed at Sherlock staring out the window as he played.

“You’ve lived with him long enough to know he’s different but he’s not that different. That comes out in your stories because you’re a great friend.”

John nodded but you could see he was still processing your words. You pulled back noticing the way he worked his jaw. “But I guess if you boiled it down to its basic components, it’s the great friendship that keeps us reading. Action and adventure and a connection that we all crave. Your stories just have it all.”

He cleared his throat as he turned back to you but didn’t meet your eyes. “So, ah, do they come visit you here? Your parents?”

Your gaze fell to the tea in front of you, the change of subject throwing you off balance. “No. They died in a car accident when I was in college. I came to London for the first time after and fell in love with it here. Some of my friends back in the states have a hard time believing it because of the rain.” You chuckled, “but it’s nice. It’s different.”

He touched your hand and you looked up into his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

You gave him a soft smile. “Thank you. Being here, the change of scenery, of course, I dove into my doctorate studies and it helped me work through it. Having something to concentrate on and a goal to work towards helped me find myself after.” You lifted the tea and sipped as you gazed out the door unseeing. The question of Moriarty’s involvement floating through your mind.

John was quiet for a few moments and then stood from the table. “Do you want to grab something to eat? He’ll probably be like that for a while.”

“Sure.” You stood with a smirk, grateful for the distraction, “then you can tell me about the new girlfriend.”

“How..?” He shook his head. “Don’t answer that.”

~~

You sat in John’s chair with another file open in your lap as John finished advising Sherlock on what he found in the newspapers. **“Stay out of the news.”**

Sherlock looked across at you and you glanced up. “He’s right.”

“You’re taking his side.”

“I’m not taking a side, I’m expressing my professional opinion. Besides the press is a bunch of fickle little prats.”

“Did she just say prat?” John grinned.

“I’ve picked up the lingo while I’ve been here. I don’t always say it correctly, though.” Sherlock smirked as he steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “And of course he cares what they say about you because he cares about you.”

“But I don’t.”

“You’re his friend, John is loyal and doesn’t like people talking about his friends like that. He may lash out and get himself locked up.”

“Now, that’s a bit dramatic.” John defended.

You raised your brow with a small smirk as you looked up from the file. “You’re telling me you’ve never once punched someone for disparaging a friend or maybe your sister?”

He sat back, “that was completely…”

“Thank you.” You flipped a page.

Sherlock leaned forward in his chair trying to read your papers, “what are you…”

You closed the folder and looked at him. “Classified.”

He grinned as he sat back steepling his fingers again. “Excellent.”

You glanced over the file and smirked, “I’m watching you.”

~~

The restaurant was way too uptight for your style and you could see it wasn’t Sherlock’s either. You still couldn’t figure out how you got roped into this. John was clever but this was overboard. When he had mentioned meeting his new girlfriend while checking out a case, you didn’t think it would be sitting at a table in some fancy restaurant. You were surprised they even let you in, your black work slacks and navy blue blouse could pass for business casual, but it wasn’t really suitable for a place like this.

Sherlock sat up straight against the chair back with his menu up but his eyes were scanning the area. He was pulled together but you noticed the pinch in his brow. You smirked, getting an idea. You lifted your menu glancing over and grimaced that you could barely read anything on the damn thing.

You cleared your throat and Sherlock glanced at you. You lifted your brow and his furrowed. You glanced at the table beside you where a man was texting while the woman with him seemed completely oblivious as she blathered on about something.

Sherlock glanced at you and you tapped your ring finger. He smirked and shook his head. Nope. Not married. You looked at her outfit, fancy, trying too hard. His suit was expensive but well worn and there was at least one patch job on the bottom of the back of his jacket.

“She thinks he has big money, such a shame he’s not as well off as he pretends.”

Sherlock smirked, “nicely done.”

You scooted your chair closer to Sherlock and leaned into him while pointing to something on the menu. “Why are we here?”

Sherlock played along as he leaned closer acting as if reading your menu. “I thought it was obvious once we sat down.”

“Someone else’s date.”

He glanced at you and cleared his throat. “I don't…”

You narrowed your eyes, “did you figure it out before we got here?” Sherlock’s brow rose but you weren’t buying it. “Neither one of us wants to be here. Do you seriously want to eat this overpriced shit and waste a beautiful night?” He smirked but his gaze flicked over to John. “I’m sure he thought he was helping but do you really think I like this sort of thing?”

He grasped your hand and squeezed, “what’s the plan?”

You grinned as the waiter walked over eyeing you again, “just leave it to me.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were trying to stop laughing long enough to catch your breath. Sherlock wiped tears from his eyes, “he’s never going to forgive you for that.”

“He’ll get over it. He shouldn’t have been trying to fix us up anyway. Now he can spend his date with her probably with a glass or two of wine for free at the least instead of awkward conversation. I really don’t know what he was thinking.”

“You know, I think I feel sorry for that waiter. The water in the face was a bit dramatic.”

“What? He was staring at my chest while he pretended to read off the wine menu!”

He winked at you with a grin and you shook your head. “So, what is your idea of a date?”

“How about we play a game?” You touched his forearm.

He lifted his arm slightly and you slipped your hand around his arm. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You made your way to the tube making snap deductions about people you passed with Sherlock’s definitely more spot on than yours until you walked down into the station spotting the man that dashed in front of you. You waited until he jogged down the stairs before whispering to Sherlock. “Going home after a naughty bit of exercise.” He glanced at you, “he’s fixing his clothes and he just slipped his wedding ring back on.”

Sherlock smirked but didn’t say a word as you swiped your oyster cards and made your way on board. Once you were seated, you placed your hand on his thigh and turned to him. “How about we promise to let others do their thing and we’ll do ours?” He smiled down at you, “this… what we have is different and I’m okay with that. Are you?”

He looked down at your hand as his fingers traced the outline of it. He nodded before looking back up at you, “still hungry?”

“As long as it’s not foie gras.”

“I know an excellent little place. The owner…”

“What did you do for him?”

He smirked, “I found her dog.”

“Sherlock Holmes, detective extraordinaire.”

~~

You strode into Mycroft’s office waving at his assistant with the morning paper that had Moriarty’s face splashed across the front. Her gaze was once again locked on her phone. “Does she ever put that thing down?”

He didn’t look up from the file on his desk. “No.”

“What’s the point then?”

“Everything’s on the phone and she answers when she needs to.” He wrote something quickly before closing the file. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Ah, yes. My little brother?” He quirked his brow with a smirk.

“What is he up to?”

“My brother? I figured you would know since…”

You interrupted him, “yes, I’ve been over there. Enough of your little dramatics. Do you have some idea of what Moriarty’s planning?”

“We have an idea, yes. It is my job.”

“Really? I thought catching him would be your job.”

“Lestrade already did that.”

“He wanted to be caught again, and he wanted to see Sherlock on display talking about him in court. He’s setting the stage.”

He leaned forward placing his elbows on his desk. “Why don’t you just ask your flatmate?”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not living there.”

“Are you sure?”

You planted your hands on his desk and leaned forward looking into his eyes, but what you read there made you take a seat. The thought was already in your head, you just didn’t want to give it any weight, but Mycroft’s look did more than that. “It’s going to get worse. The trial is just the beginning.”

“Since you’ve been spending so much time there maybe you could help me with something.”

You gripped the armrests, “I’m a psychologist not…”

He smirked. “You went through the training at the top of your class and you are very observant. That’s all I need, a keen observer around him because we both know sometimes he can miss certain things when his mind is already occupied.”

“You really think he’ll send someone to take Sherlock out?” You frowned,” no. That wouldn’t be personal enough. He’d want to be the one to do it. He likes to be front and center so they know he’s the reason. His last mark left on them was always psychological.”

Mycroft tilted his head, “who said they would be for him?”

You turned your head and gazed at the books lining the shelf. “How unoriginal. He’ll threaten his friends.”

“Caring is not an advantage.”

You turned back to Mycroft with a familiar annoyance flaring up, “but the opposite is lonely and boring. Your mind isn’t very different from Sherlock’s, you know what the quiet can do.”

“It’s a good thing that he can find distractions.” That smug smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Your brow furrowed as you watched him, not believing for a second that he would actually bug his brother’s flat but you flirted with questioning that belief. “Would you like to be on call to play games whenever he needed a distraction or would you rather he turned to the drugs again?”

His smirk faded. “Well, now that we’ve stated our positions. I’ll put you on the assignment. Report anyone new, suspicious and otherwise.” He wrote down a number and passed the slip of paper to you. “Text only and John can’t know.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s not a very good actor. No need to tip anyone off.”

You closed your eyes and dropped your head. “Alright.” You stood up and made your way back to the door lost in thoughts of just how bad this could possibly get.

“Y/n.” You paused at the door and looked over your shoulder. “We need to keep our heads with this one because things are going to get… complicated.”

“I know. I’ve been here before, remember?”

“Just a reminder to keep a clear head.”  

You pulled the door closed behind you as you walked back to your office with a sinking feeling in your stomach. There was a storm coming but you could only see the beginning of its formation. Moriarty had years to change his game and a bunch of worker bees to carry things so much further.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Lines borrowed from the episode The Reichenbach Fall in BOLD.*

You were careful after Moriarty showed up in the flat and you noticed Sherlock was as well. The sitting room had been stained somehow. You barely spent any time in there and avoided walking through it at all. John had noticed and you could tell that he thought you were afraid of Moriarty and kept away from that room because of him. Sherlock had noticed but didn’t mention it. Your spontaneous distractions didn’t happen often, but you never allowed it to happen anywhere near the sitting room. Mycroft’s words would whisper in your head and you knew it would only make matters worse. _Caring is not an advantage._

You sat in the kitchen staring into a cup of tea feeling a storm bearing down all around. You were just waiting for the first crack of lightning. Your phone buzzed on the table and you jumped then cursed under your breath. Glancing down, you saw Mycroft’s name flash on the screen with an attachment. You opened it and a video clip played. It was silent but you could practically hear the little girl’s scream. Another text came through with a single word, a coded message that simply meant go. It was the first flash of lightning and you only had to count until the thunder shook the windows now.

You closed your eyes, thinking back to two nights ago and how differently the night was playing out. Mycroft’s words had been driving you insane that night too. His arrogance always drove you up a wall but the way he had infected his brother’s mind had bothered you even more that night as you sat on Sherlock’s bed mulling it all over.

_He probably meant to protect him from ridicule and the annoying little idiots that would use him, hurt him, and maybe that helped him in school but now, now he needed people to have his back. You flipped your phone in your hand. You had sent a text thirty minutes earlier to the operative in the area. Four foreign transplants highly trained to fit in, and you had a good feeling what else, all living around the flat and more movement around the front door every day._

_Sherlock walked into the room and froze. You dropped your phone and looked up. “Hi.”_

_“Comfortable?”  He quirked a brow as he walked to the armoire._

_You dropped your head staring at your phone. Then made a snap decision. “Did you know that I got to observe Jim Moriarty?”_

_He turned toward you, his fingers still holding the fifth button down. His brow furrowed but he didn’t say anything. He continued unbuttoning his shirt._

_“He may be highly intelligent and a very well connected psychopath, but he’s still just a man.”_

_He pulled his shirt off, “and this is on your mind because?”_

_“Because I observe. Something’s coming and you need all the data you can get.” Your gaze dropped to his waist where he unbuckled his belt and pulled it off. “What are you doing?”_

_He smirked, “changing. This is my room. What data?”_

_You looked down and cleared your throat. “Maybe I should come back in when you’re finished.” Your stomach twisted as the heat coiled even lower. It felt wrong keeping things from him when he was so open with you. You fingered your phone contemplating telling him everything but knowing that could backfire and get him hurt or worse._

_The bed shifted behind you as Sherlock sat down with his back against the headboard. “Already done.”_

_You glanced over your shoulder with a smirk you couldn’t hide, “that comfortable in front of me?” He was dressed only in dark boxer briefs and a white undershirt._

_“Does that bother you?”_

_You chuckled and shook your head. “Just a little difficult to share information when you’re…” Your gaze raked over him, “very much distracting.”_

_He grinned, “a good challenge then.”_

_You raised your brow and smiled, “fine.” You crawled up the bed, your hands pressing into the mattress on either side of his legs. You stopped with your face inches from his before turning and sitting beside him._

_“I was saying he’s just a man with a creepy crush on you and I’d say he was jealous because your intelligence has never truly knocked you down like I believe his did.” You saw his argument stirring as he turned his face toward you and you pressed your palm over his mouth. “He’s a psychopath but he’s just a man and I don’t think he’s as clever as you think.” Because I’ve stopped him before, You wanted to say but knew you couldn’t._

_“The reason he’s so terrifying is because he’s so clever.” He spoke without removing your hand and the fear that flashed in his eyes chilled you. It was something you had never seen before but you pressed on._

_“He’s not as clever as you want him to be. I know you’ve built him up in your mind but he’s just well connected with maybe half your smarts but the rest he’s simply made up to make himself feel more important. That’s why he’s so fixated on you because you don’t need mob ties, hitmen, and who knows how many moles in different corporations and agencies. You don’t need people to make you who you are.”_

_“Plenty of people have made me out to be this boffin detective.” He glanced down at your hand that you had yet to remove._

_“You know what I mean.” You bit back the grin at the feel of his lips against your palm._

_“Recently, you and Watson in certain respects.”_

_You shook your head with a soft smile, “we may have helped you learn a few things but that’s only because you let us in.” His brow inched up and you rolled your eyes, “yes, if we get technical  there’s a lifetime of influences and decisions that made you this man in front of me but ultimately it was your decisions. Recently, you let Watson and I in, let us see the real you and in return, in my professional opinion, you’ve gained more.”_

_You chuckled as you slid your hand from his lips to his cheek, rubbing your thumb gently over his cheekbone. “He’s not as clever as you are and I can prove it.” Sherlock’s gaze was riveted on yours. “He’s never even mentioned me, has he?” His brows furrowed and his eyes flicked back and forth. You watched as he searched for any mention of you within his contact with Moriarty and then his face cleared. His eyes refocused on yours and he shook his head. “Because he’s just a man who doesn’t think that you could ever have something like you do with me. He knows The Woman didn’t work on you and he’s under the false assumption that you could never experience love. Maybe it’s because he can’t feel love and he believes that you could never love either. There’s not only a huge difference between the two of you but he believes that sociopaths can’t love. It’s a common misconception but just because it’s not the love in the movies and all those sappy romance novels, doesn’t mean it’s not real. Not every love is the same and I’m not just talking about the difference between family, friends, and lovers. What I have for you and what I feel from you every time you let me see beyond the facade, there is love and it is amazing just like that brain of yours. Just because it’s not what they think love is, doesn’t mean it’s not special. And you could never have anything less.”_

_His hand slid up your back and pulled you toward him. You maneuvered around so you were straddling his lap and he pressed his hand between your shoulder blades to pull you against him. His lips took yours and you sighed as your hands went into his thick curls. His hands became hesitant as they always did once the initial compulsion was sated. Your hips rolled over his and he groaned, his arms tightening around you. You ran your tongue along his bottom lip and he deepened the kiss. Heat coiled low in your abdomen as the throbbing ache even lower caused you to moan._

_Sherlock broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against yours. “Y/n.” His breath hot against your mouth, your name was laced with a desire that matched your own and yet sounded halfway between a question and plea._

_“Only if you want.” You opened your heavy eyes to see his pupils growing and blacking out so much of his gorgeous grey-blue. You didn’t have to feel his pulse to know his heart was pounding, you felt enough of his body’s reaction already pressing against his boxers and your lounge pants. You knew it wasn’t a question of want but crossing the last line that the two of you had been tiptoeing around. Something flickered in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite place and yet it pulled at your heart. “Sherlock?”_

_He silenced you with his lips then his hands were pulling your shirt up and breaking contact for a moment as he pulled it over your head. You crashed your lips back to his and his hands were already working on your bra and slipping it off before gripping your hips. You tugged at his shirt and he leaned forward then flipped you onto your back. You yanked his shirt up and over with a grin as his gaze swept over your skin. He finally met your eyes again and you whispered. “I love you.” You ignored the impulse to close your eyes afraid of his reaction. It was tricky, knowing it might not be the best time but he only smiled as he lowered himself down._

_“Maybe you should hold that thought.” His cheeks were flushed and you knew it was more than just your heated activity that colored his face._

_You cupped his face in your hands and gazed into his eyes, making sure you had his full attention. “There is nothing that you could do that would ever change that.”_

_“You really are special.” He let some of his weight press you into the bed as his lips descended to yours._

_“You couldn’t have anything less.” Then you leaned up colliding with his mouth. Teeth clicked and you winced, chuckling softly. “Sorry, my fault.”_

_He smiled, “learning curve.”_

_“Get down here and kiss me before I take over.” You pulled his shoulders down and he grinned._

_“I’m going to do more than kiss you.”_

_You slipped your hand in between your bodies and underneath his waistband just as he finally kissed you denying you a reply but what followed next, you didn’t care if you ever got to speak again._

 

The front door slammed and ripped you from the memory. You released a shaky breath and clenched your legs. Now was not the time to get distracted. John and Sherlock rushed into the sitting room and Sherlock began ranting. He sat at the laptop and began to winnow down the facts. You wondered if this was all an act for John but knew with him moving around so fast you’d never get a read on him which was probably a good thing knowing the effects of your little trip down memory lane would still be visible.

He swiped his fingers across the desk then his head turned and he finally locked eyes with you. You didn’t break his gaze but bit down on your bottom lip unable to stop the involuntary action. Your gaze flicked toward the couch as you thought about the reason you had stayed away from the sitting room and Sherlock jumped up glancing around the room.

**“We need to ask about the dusting.”**

He called Mrs. Hudson up and went about searching the room. John threw a confused glance your way as you continued to sit without speaking a word. The silent observer. He didn’t ask, just nodded as if he knew what was happening or simply trying to give you some comfort that everything was going to be okay even though he knew clearly it would not.

Lestrade strode into the sitting room and you dropped your gaze back to the now cold tea. As their discussion wound down, you stood from the table and stepped into the doorway to the stairs. You grabbed Lestrade’s arm as he walked by. He stopped and looked at you, confusion flashing across his face. You leaned into him and whispered in his ear, “this is only going to get worse. Remember the storm I talked about? This is just the beginning and you can’t stop it, but you can give him time.”

You pulled away and he narrowed his eyes then nodded his head. He glanced back at the sitting room before heading down the stairs. You turned and walked through the kitchen to the doorway. John was already at the window looking out and Sherlock had the live feed of his face on the laptop. He caught your movement from the corner of his eye and turned to look at you. You raised your brow and nodded toward the camera. He looked back at the screen and began typing. “It’s not audio.”

“I don’t care.” You whispered.

He glanced at you before stabbing a button and turning the computer screen to face you. He moved the camera around showing that he set it on a loop.

John watched you walk into the room and sit on the couch. You stayed quiet as they started speaking of the next moves in the game. John’s anger flared and you wondered if he thought Sherlock was letting this all happen as you tried to puzzle it out for yourself. But then Sherlock shouted and slammed his hand on his desk. You were pulled from your thoughts and glanced between them.

**“No. I know you for real.”**

**“A hundred percent.”**

**“No one could fake being such an annoying dick all the time.”**

You snorted and they both glanced your way. “Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude on such a tender moment.”

Sherlock dropped his head and John turned back to the window as he cleared his throat. You watched Sherlock, the smile creeping across his face as he resumed his typing. You stood up and left the room heading for the bathroom.

You closed the door and locked it behind you before turning to the mirror. Leaning on the sink, you stared but didn’t really see the face in front of you. You knew what would come next and you closed your eyes, your stomach churning as your mind played out various scenarios. He’s just a man. You reminded yourself but a smart insane man with an obsession was often only predictable in the way that they always found a hole, always found that chance to get their front and center moment with their object of twisted desire. You stopped before going into the list of men that achieved their goal of all or nothing and destroyed their obsession.

You opened your eyes and gazed into the mirror hoping they knew what they were doing. You turned on the tap and splashed cold water on your face a couple of times before turning the faucet off. You dried your face and took six slow, deep breaths before replacing the towel and unlocking the door. You stepped into the hall and heard the sirens. You frowned, you couldn’t have been in there that long.

You strode back toward the sitting room hearing the commotion downstairs. You found Sherlock alone slipping his scarf around his neck. “Sherlock.” He turned to you as he lifted his coat and slipped it on. His face was blank, his battle armor already in place as you walked over to him. You looked up, taking in every inch before placing your hands on his jaw and brushing your thumbs over his lips. He leaned down and you wrapped your arms around his neck. Before he touched his lips to yours, you stopped him by pressing your forehead against his and tilting your lips away. “Caring is an advantage. All you have to do is ask, and friends, the people that care about you, will always help.”

You shoved your hands into his hair and kissed him hard. His arms wrapped around you squeezing you against him as he deepened the kiss. It held promises of things to come that you weren’t even sure would be possible. You broke away hearing the racket downstairs get louder and knew John wouldn’t be able to hold them off much longer. You flipped up his collar and dragged your fingers along the fabric until you gripped the lapels. “Finish this. I’ll be here waiting.” You gave him another hard kiss before backing away through the kitchen. He watched you disappear with nothing showing on his face except for a flash of something you couldn’t quite pinpoint and then that little flick of his eyebrow.

The police filled the sitting room as you slipped behind Sherlock’s door and closed it. You leaned against it and listened. You could picture it all going down, Sherlock being cuffed and led down the stairs. It got quiet and then a man shouted. There was some scuffling and you shook your head getting a feeling John had just lashed out. Then the flat went silent. 

You sat on the bed and pulled out your phone sending a single text to Mycroft. _And they’re off_.


	7. Chapter 7

The cab turned onto the street you’d been waiting anxiously for and you looked up the block toward the address John had texted you. You didn’t question how he got it and didn’t ask what was happening because you knew. The look in Sherlock’s eyes last night had stuck with you throughout the night and reminded you of the look from three nights ago. It wasn’t until John had texted you ‘St Bart’s’ with nothing else but ‘hurry’ that Sherlock’s look finally struck a chord that clicked with recognition. Sadness.

Maybe Sherlock had a point about sentiment clogging up the gears because you should’ve seen it last night. You should’ve known he knew something drastic was coming and a tragic ending was possible maybe even probable. He didn’t say anything because he didn’t know how you would react or maybe he did know and didn’t want to face it or for you to get hurt trying to intervene.

He had said you were his ultimate puzzle because you didn’t always react as he predicted but there was a first for everything. You cursed the phrase and sent another prayer into the cosmos for Sherlock at the same time cursing yourself for telling him Moriarty wasn’t clever. Somehow you felt that would come back to bite you in the ass now. He may not be clever but he had enough intelligence in psychology and little minions to make his stage so much greater.

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds for a moment and you wanted to hope it was a good omen but those sorts of things rarely worked for you. A glimmer of light high up caught your eye and you squinted trying to see what had caught the sunlight but then the taxi slowed and you saw John standing in the middle of the street.

You shoved the cash at the driver with a hurried, “thank you.” Then jumped out of the cab and rushed to John. He held his phone against his ear and you followed his eye line then stumbled to a stop. His name fell from your lips as your heart plummeted. John turned with wide eyes then returned his gaze to Sherlock on the edge of the hospital roof. He rushed on talking into the phone and you heard your name but none of the other words made any sense.

John backed up and glanced at you before pulling you to him. “SHERLOCK!” You screamed when you saw his arm drop to his side as he stared down at you. You saw his eyes from the other night and heard his voice in your head, _maybe you should hold that thought._

How had you been so blind? The ultimate humiliation, the one thing Sherlock couldn’t come back from, the fraud detective jumping to his death. Suicide. St. Bart’s was the perfect stage.  “DON’T! SHERLOCK, NO!”

John held onto you as he looked up and echoed your screams. But Sherlock raised his arms as if to bow and then he was falling. You heard John’s disbelief as the air rushed from your lungs. “No.” It was your voice, your cry, but you were numb.

John grabbed your hand and pulled you forward rushing toward the sidewalk but you couldn’t see him like that. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t. John slowed at the corner of the ambulance building and you caught a glimpse of dark curls and choked out a sob.

A biker hit John and you were pulled to the ground with him. John was up and gone but you couldn’t move. You laid there feeling the life leak out of you knowing that nothing would ever be the same. Not for you, not for John, and not for London.

Moriarty was just a man but he had found Sherlock’s pressure point. But how? Sherlock would never… You closed your eyes not wanting to see what was left of the man you loved. You didn’t want to see what Moriarty did to him, you didn’t want to see anything anymore. Rage and nothingness swirling, overlapping, and colliding. It was exhausting.

John was back at your side but you simply stared at the sky. Another flare of light blinded you and your mind fired back throwing an image to the foreground, the flash you saw from the high building across the street when the cab drove up.

You bolted up causing John to stumble back and call your name but you needed to move, needed to find it. You ran back to where the cab stopped and looked up trying to remember exactly where the flash originated. Then trailed your eyes down the building trying to analyze the number of exits. You rushed toward the side of the building and into the alleyway searching for the fire escape. Empty. You ran back to the front of the building, hide in plain sight.

You ripped open the front door hearing John call your name but you didn’t have time to stop. You took the stairs two at a time hoping to slam into someone with a bag big enough for a disassembled rifle. Footsteps soon followed you along with your name again. Your legs and lungs began to ache and you lost count of the floors you had passed, but then you could feel the cool breeze brush your face.

“Y/n!”

You stopped in front of the window resting your hands on your knees and glanced up the stairwell. You didn’t know how he did it but he must’ve gotten out another way or maybe he lived here on one of the floors.

You turned and sat down on the landing. Out the window was the perfect vantage point, a clear sight to the roof of St. Bart’s and where you were standing in the street with John.

John knelt in front of you, “what are you doing?”

You looked at him, he was still in a bit of a daze but he didn’t look as vacant as you felt. Of course, you were just guessing. Assume just makes an ass out of u and me. You shook your head, it wasn’t time for jokes. “He didn’t just jump. He didn’t have a choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told Sherlock that Moriarty was just a man, that he wasn’t that clever. I told him caring was an advantage and he fucking used that against him!” You looked out the window and John followed your gaze. You saw Sherlock standing on the roof then he was falling again. Your chest grew cold as if an icy dagger had punctured your sternum and melted. Your vision clouded and you no longer saw the street or the building or the window. A sob clawed its way up your throat.

John turned from the window and his arms wrapped around you, but it wasn’t the arms you wanted. He wasn’t the man you craved. Another sob tore through your lips and unleashed a string of unintelligible noises that would have made Sherlock slightly uncomfortable. The thought only made it hurt so much more.

John held you without a word and you knew he was hurting too or maybe, if he was lucky, he was still in shock and the dagger hadn’t punctured his chest cavity yet. You could only hope he would be so fortunate and you didn’t have much hope left.

~~

You stood with John and Mrs. Hudson in front of the gravestone. It was a plain shiny black stone with his partial name in white. It was tasteful and simple and absolutely nothing like the man you loved. But then, nothing was.

You pulled Sherlock’s old coat tighter around you and flipped up the collar breathing in his scent. You knew it wouldn’t last for long but it was everything right now. You could close your eyes and picture him arguing with you to put his coat back just in case the one he was wearing got dirty and he’d need one of his backups. The thought made you smile until you realized that he wouldn’t argue with you anymore. You choked back the tears, coughing to cover it up.

Mrs. Hudson was droning on about Sherlock’s activities and you had to turn away so she wouldn’t see your smirk or God forbid, a laugh. When you turned, movement behind a tree made you pause. You walked toward it balling your hands into fists. If some sick fuck decided to come here to take pictures of the few who would grieve out in the open after their godawful lies they were running in the newspapers.

“Hey! I swear to God if you stupid sons of bitches brought a camera!” You rushed toward the tree but no one was there. You spun, scanning the area but only saw a shocked Mrs. Hudson and John. You forced a smile, “sorry. I guess I’m still edgy.”

Mrs. Hudson smiled but it was forced, she was worried about you but trying not to show it since you had completely shut down on her the last time she tried to get you to talk. She patted John’s shoulder and began to walk toward the car. You watched John and he gestured toward Sherlock’s tombstone. You gave him another smile, shoved your hands in your pockets, and dug your nose into Sherlock’s scarf around your neck before turning around and walking away to give John some privacy. You knew what he would say but you were asking for the same from a God you didn’t altogether believe in but grief made you do crazy things, like punch a photographer in the face or maybe anyone at this point.

You glanced around unable to shake the feeling of being watched but John was the only one in this part of the Cemetery as far as you could tell. The thought still occurred to you that Moriarty could’ve had a backup plan something that would still haunt those Sherlock left behind but you reminded yourself that he only wanted to hurt Sherlock. You couldn’t understand what he got out of killing him but he was insane. Insane ideas don’t always make sense to everyone else.

You glanced toward John, he was touching the gravestone and a wave of nausea turned your stomach. You leaned against the tree closing your eyes and taking deep soothing breaths that John had instructed you to do before when you broke down. Something his therapist taught him no doubt or maybe someone in the military. You reminded him you had a doctorate in these matters but your voice was barely there.

Sometimes you just needed to hear it from someone else when your mind wasn’t exactly working right, but you also knew you weren’t there yet to truly hear it.

“Y/n? You okay?” John asked.

You opened your eyes as you released another controlled breath. “Are any of us?” He averted his gaze and shoved his hands in his pockets. You chuckled but it was hollow and the cry at the end of it revealed its true origin. “If anyone could outmaneuver Moriarty, it would be William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Right, John? He could do it.” The tears filled your eyes even though you were trying to will them away. “Even if it’s a lie, tell me I’m right.”

John’s jaw clenched and he looked down. It took a moment but he finally closed the space between you and answered as he slipped his arm around your shoulders. “If anyone could, it would be him.” He fully believed every word he said. Somehow, that just made it hurt more. He pulled you away from the tree, “come on, now. Let’s get you some tea.”

The thought turned your stomach. “Ugh, I don’t know about that.”

“We’ll get you warm and figure something out. Maybe you should take a visit back to the states.” You froze and doubled over, your stomach convulsing and you dry heaved. John swept your hair up and rubbed your back. “It’s going to be okay.”

You wiped at your mouth even though nothing was there. You couldn’t still the shaking in your arms no matter how hard you tried. When you straightened and found John’s eyes, you could see how shaken he was but not from what he was experiencing, it was concern painting his face. “Please don’t. I can't… I can’t.” You shook your head.

John wrapped his arms around you tightly, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hand cupped the back of your head and the searing ache ricocheted around in your chest. The tears were hot against your cheeks and you tried to take a deep breath but instead, a single sob escaped. The sound somehow snapped you back to the present and you took several deep breathes but unable to dislodge the pain in your chest.

Ten minutes later, the tears had run dry as you let John lead you out of the Cemetery still feeling eyes on your back. You reminded yourself that you had done this before, that you had made it through an unexpected death but why was this hitting you so hard? You hadn’t even known him for that long and yet it was tearing you apart bit by bit. But who were you kidding?

It had happened so quickly, he had worked his way under your skin before you could even think about it. And you even admitted it to him. The first person you truly loved after your parents. Moriarty had done it again and he probably didn’t even know. “I can’t do this myself.” You whispered.

“You could see my therapist.” You nodded but knew you’d probably have to get clearance to see someone on the outside. “I might call my old professor. He helped me through my parents…” Your voice hitched and you shut down.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to talk about it. Let’s get you back home.”

Another wail crept out before you could smother it. You met his eyes, “you’re talking about Baker Street, right?”

He frowned but nodded. “Okay.”

~~

Your alarm went off and you cracked your eyes open. You were laying on Sherlock’s bed in his house robe and turned your head to look at the armoire where the last shirt he wore still hung over the chair. You had worn it on multiple occasions but always put it back just the way he left it. You turned your head back and forced yourself to roll out of bed.

After you washed your hair, you stood in the shower feeling the water beat against your back until it ran cold. Then you dressed quickly and covered the dark circles under your eyes with makeup before walking back into Sherlock’s bedroom. You didn’t waste any more time picking up your phone then heading out to the sitting room and grabbing your bag.

Mrs. Hudson popped into the doorway of the kitchen. “Breakfast?”

You looked over with a forced smile that you knew didn’t fool her. “No, thank you. My stomach is still…” You shrugged. “I’ll see you later.”

Mrs. Hudson’s face crumpled when she thought you couldn’t see but you kept moving. You thought of John’s empty room and continued down the stairs with a flare of annoyance. On the way to work, that annoyance worked itself into a simmering anger. John had a good reason to leave, he couldn’t handle the reminders, and you knew he had stayed that month for you but it became too much. He had taken the healthy approach and separated himself from the stressor, but this morning you couldn’t see that. Today marked a month since John left and two months since Sherlock’s death. Everything had a tint of red today and you had a hard time concentrating.

During the meeting with the heads of several departments, you lost focus as they droned on around the room. You shoved your hand in your right pocket and gripped the small package you had found in Sherlock’s room. It had become your anchor over the last few weeks and you knew you should tell someone but the words never left your mouth. The words you wanted to say never found their way out anymore.

You cut back on your appointments and locked everything away when you worked. For a while it had helped, you were able to fool everyone around you. No one knew of your connection with Sherlock Holmes except for his brother who had thankfully been silent and left you alone for the most part. Although there were moments where you just wanted him to say something, to smile in that smug way just so you could tell him everything you really thought but he had been smart around you and careful. He knew you were grieving and he gave you space. Maybe he was smart enough to keep you from losing your job.

The sudden creaking of chairs and chatter brought your eyes up. The table began to empty and you collected your things that had sat untouched during the meeting. You tucked them in your bag and threw the strap over your shoulder as you stood then walked out behind the crowd. You gripped the small bag in your pocket again and rubbed your thumb over the plastic. Every time you passed a bathroom you wondered how easy it would be to just slip in there and take a small amount. Sherlock had been a user and you knew there were moments when he struggled with it but every time you told yourself you wouldn’t ever take it, you never dumped it down the toilet. The baggie always ended up back in your pocket.

Every day that passed got harder to keep up the appearance that everything was okay. Your phone calls to professor Harding weren’t helping. He was telling you things you knew and yet something just wasn’t clicking. You blamed it on not being face to face and tried skyping the sessions. While it was nice to see a familiar trusted face, the darkness still gripped you. You couldn’t eat very much without feeling nauseous which was pretty much all the time for the last two months and your energy was zapped no matter how much sleep you could get with or without dreams of him.

You stopped beside the bathroom near your office and your hand tightened around the bag. You needed to find something to focus on, a goal to work toward, but nothing made sense. Every list you tried to make sounded ridiculous and half the time you couldn’t even finish it. Your mind was fuzzy and thinking straight was becoming a pastime you couldn’t get back.

You shouldn’t feel this lost. If your emotions didn’t go haywire over every little thing maybe you could make something work. With just a little hit, you could make it go away or maybe even focus your thoughts. Sherlock once told you that certain drugs helped him focus his mind or at least that’s what he had told himself at the time. Addicts always find a reason.

You walked through the door and stopped in the middle of the bathroom. It was empty and quiet. You could make everything else like that for a little while. You pulled the bag out and stared down at it. A reprieve would be nice but it wouldn’t last forever. When you came out of it, it would feel ten times worse. But did you really care that much if it was worse tomorrow? At least the pain would go away for a small amount of time and just once, that would be all you needed to get everything back together. You could get your emotions in check, control the stress and that would in turn help you sleep and fix the nausea. That sounded like a good plan, so why couldn’t you open the bag?

You gripped the top of the bag and a throat cleared behind you. You spun around shoving the bag into your pocket.

“I’ve given you a lot of leeway in the last two months but this is where I have to draw the line.” Mycroft looked down at you then turned around and opened the door, “follow me.”

You followed him to his office feeling oddly like a child, but as you walked behind him you began to get a little giddy that you would finally get to let go and release all the pent up anger. He closed the door to his office telling Anthea he was not to be disturbed. Then he gestured to the chair as he walked by it and leaned against the front of his desk. You caught the concern that flashed across his face before he locked it down into his classic nonchalance. All the fire swirling inside you flickered out as if the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

“You are an extremely bright woman, accomplished and clever…”

It flared back up and you snapped, “why are you buttering me up? Get to the point.”

He worked his mouth for a moment then continued, “if you wanted to throw all of that away then I’ll fire you and you can. Everything you worked for, everything your parents did for you wasted because life got tough. You want to ruin your life? Fine, but it will not be at the expense of my family.”

You could see the anger simmering on the surface and it caught you off guard. You never saw Mycroft show anything other than a flash of concern, frustration or smug glee. “What are you talking about? How would your family..?”

He rolled his eyes as he held out his hand and you knew he wanted the bag still sitting in your pocket. You pulled it out and placed it in his palm as you played his words over in your head.

“Don’t make me list all the symptoms. The signs are there, you just need to…”

You pressed your hand to your stomach as your jaw dropped and one word squeaked out, “how?” You stared down at your stomach. Everything was crashing down as all the symptoms flashed behind your eyes. How the hell hadn’t you seen it?

“Forgive me if I don’t go into specifics since I’m sure you’re well aware.” He smirked, “and to think I thought my little brother wouldn’t even know what to do.”

You were still looking down when you whispered, “keep it.”

He pocketed the bag. “Obviously.”

You stood up and threw your arms around him. “I never thought I’d say this again, but thank you, Mycroft. I was so close to doing something incredibly stupid.”

“Most do.” He gave you a light pat on the back and you pulled back.

“Sorry.” You dropped your arms to your side but one hand went back to your stomach. “My emotions have been out of control recently.”

“Exactly.”

You looked up at him, “seriously, thank you.”

He flashed a tight smile and you caught a flicker of sadness for a split second. “What we do for family.”

You chuckled, “that sounds really weird.” Your ears were ringing as your emotions once again drug you through a tumultuous wave but for once they were stirring up better memories and feelings.

“Yes, well, welcome to the Holmes family dinners.”

You frowned, “what?”

“Obviously the birth certificate will have to be heavily redacted or altered but he or she will be a Holmes and I will certainly not keep that secret from my mother. Furious. You’ve never seen it but I have and she would find out.” He shivered slightly.

“I… I never even…” You started to cry, “fuck, this is awful, I keep crying at the weirdest things.”

Mycroft grimaced as he pushed a box of tissues across his desk, “yes, well, that is another sign, unfortunately.” He plucked two tissues and handed them to you. “You’re probably going to have to get the language under control before the child can repeat it.”

You grinned, “I’m pregnant.” You hugged him again and this time, he actually wrapped his arms around you for a moment with a quick squeeze.

“Do take care of yourself so I don’t have to intervene again.” He reached back and grabbed something off his desk and handed you a file.

You looked up at him trying to figure him out. “Is this a case?”

“Yes.” He smirked, “your case.” You opened the file and stared at the printout with the University College London letterhead and a list of postgraduate psychology studies. “Professor Harding recommended delving a little deeper into the childhood side if you were up for it.”

Tears swelled in your eyes, “thank you.”

It wasn’t going to be even close to easy but you found it, the something to dive into until you found yourself again. You were going to be a mother.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lines borrowed from The empty hearse in BOLD

**(22 Months later)**

A knock at the door stirred you from the reports covering your work side of the kitchen table. You glanced over to the mess on other side and smiled. Will, your fifteen-month-old son, was giggling as Mrs. Hudson tried to feed him breakfast. Another knock echoed through the flat and Mrs. Hudson stood up. You stopped her with a pointed finger. “Sit. You’ve done enough.”

She smiled as she sat back down and leaned toward the toddler throwing more of his breakfast than eating it. “As if playing with you is a chore.”

You shook your head as you stood and called out, “hang on!”

With a big smile toward the other side of the table, you asked the giggling, bright-eyed mess, “who do you think it is?” You were met with wet raspberries and messy claps. You chuckled as you walked backward through the kitchen door. “Don’t make any more of a mess on nana. I’m raising a gentleman.” He blew more raspberries and Mrs. Hudson’s laughter followed you into the sitting room.

You opened the door and frowned, “John? Why the hell didn’t you just come in?”

John smiled as he walked in glancing around as if he might see someone else. “Never know when you might be entertaining someone.”

You rolled your eyes, “you’re hilarious.”

He smirked as he walked around you. “Where is the little man of the house?”

You closed the door and followed behind him. “Throwing his breakfast all over Mrs. Hudson presently.”

John walked into the kitchen and Will shrieked a string of random words he said on a daily basis ending with Unca John. You chuckled as he smacked his tray spraying more apple sauce and cereal all over. He could eat perfectly well when he wanted to but this morning he didn’t seem to be in the mood.

“Yay! Uncle John!” You answered when your son looked your way.

John grabbed a towel off the table and threw it over his shoulder before lifting Will into his arms. His unruly mop of dark curls falling across his forehead. “Look at you!” He swiped a baby wipe from the package on the counter and wiped his face. “There’s my handsome fella. How are you this morning?”

You stood in the doorway smiling as your son smacked John’s cheeks covering him in apple sauce. A bark of laughter erupted as John’s eyes closed and then he winced as his mustache was tugged. “Hey! We talked about that. No pulling hair.” John tried to scold him but couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

“Why doesn’t Uncle John just get rid of that creepy thing? Tell him Will, it creeps you out.” You chuckled as John turned narrowed eyes on you.

“Mary likes it.”

 _No, she doesn’t it_ , you thought but just smiled. Mrs. Hudson, having already cleaned the table of Will’s mess, clicked his tray off the chair and carried it around John to the sink. “Where is the lovely lady today? Are you keeping her away from us on purpose? Afraid baby fever might catch?” She laughed as she began to wash the tray.

You raised your brow at John and he shook his head but you caught a small twitch in his cheek muscle. “What? What is it?”

John’s eyes widened just enough before he shook his head, “can’t get anything past you.” He smiled at Will as he clapped merrily and sang Unca John over and over. “I’m going to ask her. Tonight over dinner.”

You gasped, “that’s fantastic!” You rushed over and hugged him. Will gave him another pat on his cheek. “Have you decided how yet?”

“I…” He dabbed at this face with another baby wipe. “Ah, I’ve got a reservation at The Landmark and a ring.”

“Well then, let me see!” You took Will from his arms and waited as patiently as you possibly could. John pulled a small red box out of his pocket and opened it. Three beautiful diamonds sparkled and you exhaled. “It’s gorgeous. I’m so happy for you.” You met his gaze with a smile but caught the look in his eye and remembered the conversation you had almost a year ago.

 

_You were cleaning up the baby toys scattered throughout the sitting room as John talked about Mary. You were thrilled that he had finally started getting out again and Mary really seemed to be good for him. “You know we should go out to dinner. I’ll talk with Mrs. Hudson and she can watch Will for you.”_

_You looked up at him narrowing your eyes, “why would I need a babysitter?”_

_“Because you could use some time out with adults.” He was always a horrible liar even without your training._

_“And what adults are you talking about?”_

_He cleared his throat, “Mary and I. Maybe a friend I…”_

_“John.” You shook your head and stood up with the box of toys. “I’ve told you before I’m not interested in…”_

_“I just don’t want you to think that will never be a possibility because you have Will.”_

_You sighed, knowing that John felt you were holding yourself back from any future relationship because you had a child. It was absurd but John had a hard time understanding it from your perspective. He still thought you were grieving. “I don’t need that possibility.”_

_“I want you to know that it’s okay. Plenty of women go on to have relationships…” You groaned and John stopped._

_You knew he was staring at you trying to figure you out. It reminded you of Sherlock and you smiled. You set the box down on the desk before walking over and sitting next to him on the couch. “I know, but I am not those women and not because I’m still lost in grief or don’t want to move on.” You took his hand, “the only men that I need or want in my life are here. What happened between Sherlock and I wasn’t normal for me. I’ve just never… I don’t actively seek it out if that makes any sense to you. If it happens, it happens but I’m not going to try to force it or put myself in awkward situations when I don’t even want to try that. You and Will are the only men I need.”_

_His gaze flicked back and forth between your eyes then he nodded as his gaze dropped for a moment. “Okay. But if you ever…”_

_“John.”_

_He smirked, “I’m just saying, I’ve seen Lestrade look at you.”_

_You rolled your eyes and pushed him away with a soft chuckle as you stood, “oh god. He’s just a friend.”_

_John’s brow rose and his smile grew, “just a friend that kept you out of jail for knocking Donovan out.”_

_“I didn't knock her out, but she deserved it and he knew it.”_

_“I’m sure everyone knew it.”_

_“I am okay. I’m happy with the way things are and I’m happy that you found Mary, I really am. I think she is really good for you and I’m sure we will be great friends. That’s what will make me happy.”_

_You could see the worry still there but he let it go and nodded. “She’s going to love you and Will.”_

 

You cut him off before he could even think about broaching that topic again. “You should put that away before Will gets a hold of it, though.”

John laughed but it was forced. He tucked the box back in his jacket pocket. “You don’t think I’ll have any… unexpected surprises?”

“Like what?”

“Like her laughing or running away as fast as she possibly could?” John always looked adorable when he was nervous.

“Maybe from that mustache.” You grinned. He rolled his eyes and you waved it off, “you’ll do just fine, Mr. Watson. I only foresee some fun times in your future. Maybe some good old fashioned exercise tonight.”

Mrs. Hudson burst out laughing and John blushed. “Enough of that.” John straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. “Now then, how long will I be watching him today?”

“Just two meetings and I should be able to pick him up. Mary said she’d be able to play with him in the office since you’ve got those interns this week.”

His brow furrowed, “oh, right. The interns.”

You chuckled, “she’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“That’s a good one. Thank you.”

~~

John had fidgeted with the box as he waited for Mary at the table. A million things had rushed through his mind as scenarios played out one after the other while he tried to decide on one to say to the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with when she finally sat across from him. But not one of them had gone even slightly the way reality had played out. Sherlock Holmes had been the farthest thing from his mind when his deceased best friend appeared beside the table as he was rambling his way through a proposal.

It wasn’t until they were in their third restaurant that things had seriously spiraled out of control. First, he tried to ring Sherlock’s neck twice, his mustache was disgraced, and then it finally dawned on him the other reason why he was so viciously livid at the man in front of him mid-rant. **“Over reacting? Overreacting! So, you fake your own death and you waltzed in here large as bloody life, but I’m not supposed to have a problem with that, no because Sherlock Holmes thinks it’s a perfectly okay thing to do** leaving his…”

Sherlock raised his voice. **“Shut up John, I don’t want everyone knowing I’m still alive!”**

 **“Oh, so it’s still a secret, is it?”** John seethed picturing Will with his dark curly hair and all the hardships he had to help y/n through.

**“Yes, it’s still a secret. Promise you won’t tell anyone.”**

**“Swear to God!”** John shouted and clenched his teeth together to keep him from slugging his ex-best friend in the nose. “And what of y/n? Have you surprised her yet?” He knew it wasn’t possible and that thought boiled his blood even more.

Sherlock glanced at Mary and then toward the door. “No. I was hoping to find her tonight after I was able to enlist your help.”

John clenched his jaw again and Mary grasped his arm. Sherlock glanced between them and focused on John’s face. **“London is in danger, John. There’s an imminent terrorist attack and I need your help.”**

“ **My help?** You need my help? Well, well, after two years of helping Y/n because you decided to walk out…”

“John!” Mary tugged his arm as she scolded him. “It’s not your place.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow and analyzed Mary’s face before turning to John. He couldn’t figure out what it was Mary didn’t want John to tell him. So he forged ahead, **“you have missed this. Admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the two of us against the rest of the world.”**

John grabbed Sherlock’s jacket and slammed his head into Sherlock’s nose. Mary grabbed John and shoved him toward the door before grabbing Sherlock’s jacket and dragging him out of the restaurant. She pushed John on and told him to get a cab as she stopped with Sherlock and handed him another napkin.

**“I don’t understand. I said I’m sorry, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”**

Mary stared at him, “she said you could be oblivious of certain things at times but **you don’t know anything about human nature, do you?”**

His brow furrowed for a moment before it smoothed out. **“Nature? No. Human? No.”**

**“I’ll talk him round.”**

**“You will?”**

“On one condition.” She pointed her finger at him and her face turned serious. “You are not to go to Baker Street until tomorrow after eight am, is that clear?”

He frowned as he scanned over all the information he had been gathering from her that night. “Yes. I’ll go see y/n in the morning.”

“John will probably be there and he can help.”

“What? Why?”

“Because he’s always there in the morning. You’ll understand tomorrow, but not until tomorrow. Or you’ll likely get shot. That’s a warning, not a threat.”

Sherlock’s frown deepened. John called Mary and she gave him one last smile before turning and walking to John. They got in the cab and Sherlock watched them drive away wondering what secret they could possibly be keeping and why Y/n was involved.

John stared out the window of the cab still pulsing with rage. “And how I am not supposed to ring her and let her know what’s coming? Why should I let her be blindsided like that? That’s not what…”

“Because it is not your place. She deserves to hear it from him. She might not even believe it if you tell her and it could just make things worse. Let them sleep. Tomorrow everything is going to change, again.”

John clenched his jaw and sat back against the seat. “Yeah, this time he won’t have to bother faking it.”


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock stood across the street from his old flat leaning against a building watching the upper windows of 221B for any sign of movement. He felt ridiculous. He should just walk across and through the door but after John’s reaction last night, he was nervous. Sherlock Holmes had dismantled Moriarty's organization in two years and yet he was nervous about walking into a building but it wasn't the address he was worried about.

Y/n never reacted the way he thought she would, she always kept him on his toes, but John and Mary were hiding something last night and it had to do with her.  He wondered if Moriarty had gotten to her, had done something even though his plan worked flawlessly. Mycroft had never mentioned anything happening to her, in fact, everything that he heard about her was good. Had his brother hidden something because he predicted irrational behavior? He’d never done anything of the like before but she had been different. John knew that. Mary noticed that. Mycroft certainly would have figured that out.

He wasn’t used to the feeling wreaking havoc inside him. He ached to see her and yet afraid she would turn him away. No, not quite. What was he afraid of? He never feared things he could control. Ah, but then the only time he did feel a deep stabbing fear was when it involved her. She couldn’t be controlled or always predicted. She was his puzzle.

He closed his eyes slipping back to the memory he so often visited during the last two years.

 

_He was sitting in his bed with the heat of her arm seeping into his. It was comforting although he could never understand why. She had unraveled James Moriarty from camera footage but he was still afraid of what Moriarty would do to her if he got even a hint of her importance. He knew Moriarty wanted to see him break, to fall completely not only from the media pedestal but completely obliterated. ‘I’ll burn your heart out.’ The threat rang in his head whenever he thought about her._

_“The reason he's so terrifying is because he's so clever.” Sherlock felt the pain in his chest and tried to ignore it. He stared into her eyes seeking the comfort he always found there and focused on his tingling lips from the contact with her smooth palm._

_“He’s not as clever as you want him to be. I know you've built him up in your mind but he's just well connected with maybe half your smarts but the rest he's simply made up to make himself feel more important. That's why he's so fixated on you because you don't need mob ties, hitmen, and who knows how many moles in different corporations and agencies. You don't need people to make you who you are.”_

_You and Watson are everything to me, he thought but said, “plenty of people have made me out to be this boffin detective.” His gaze drawn to her mouth._

_“You know what I mean.” She bit her lip and he felt like he was being pulled by a hook low in his abdomen._

_“Recently, you and Watson in certain respects.”_

_That shy yet genuine smile, the one he grew so fond of during their sessions painted her face in a brighter light. “We may have helped you learn a few things but that's only because you let us in.” She rolled her eyes at what she saw on his face, “yes, if we get technical there's a lifetime of influences and decisions that made you this man in front of me but ultimately, it was your decisions. Recently, you let Watson and me in, let us see the real you and in return, in my professional opinion, you've gained more.”_

_That lilting bubble of laughter pulled at him, it confused as much as it tantalized as her hand smoothed over his lips and up to his cheek. He closed his eyes, relishing his body’s reaction to the movement of her thumb over his cheekbone. “He’s not as clever as you are and I can prove it.” He opened his eyes and immediately sought out hers. “He's never even mentioned me, has he?”_

_He searched his conversations with Moriarty and everything he received but not one of them even so much as alluded to her. He refocused on her eyes and she smirked._

_“Because he's just a man who doesn't think that you could ever have something like you do with me. He knows The Woman didn't work on you and he's under the false assumption that you could never experience love. Maybe it's because he can't feel love and he believes that you could never love either. There’s not only a huge difference between the two of you but he believes that sociopaths can't love. It's a common misconception but just because it's not the love in the movies and all those sappy romance novels, doesn't mean it's not real. Not every love is the same and I'm not just talking about the difference between family, friends, and lovers. What I have for you and what I feel from you every time you let me see beyond the facade, there is love and it is amazing just like that brain of yours. Just because it's not what they think love is, doesn't mean it's not special. And you could never have anything less.”_

_Something burst inside him, blinding and all-consuming as his nerve endings ignited. He wanted nothing more than to attach himself to her and never leave. He wanted her all to himself, to deny anyone else from feeling the pleasure of her company, he needed her, all of her; mind, body, and soul._

_He savored the feel of her back under his hand as he glided it up before she moved over and straddled his lap. He pulled her closer excited by the feel of her weight and collided with her mouth. He soared with the sound of her moan as her hands brushed into his hair, nails scraping deliciously against his scalp and he was once again lost in the sensations coursing through his body._

_Her hips rolled, grinding against his lap causing another surge and spark that pulled him further into the hot undulating waves. He held onto her tightly, focusing only on her; feeling her pulse in her neck, listening to her labored breathing, concentrating on the movement of her lips and tongue. She broke the kiss and ran her tongue along his bottom lip breaking him from the storm but he needed more. He tilted her head and took her mouth swallowing every moan and sigh that spurred him on._

_She rubbed against his lap again and he broke the kiss then pressed his forehead against hers. “Y/n.” Fear lanced through the haze of desire and he tried to calm down and think straight. What if he hurt her? What if he couldn’t be what she wanted? He could force her away. Nothing would be the same and that mattered when it came to her._

_“Only if you want.” Her voice was unwavering and sure. He stared into her eyes as they opened, taking in the dilated pupils then searched every inch of her face and found not one ounce of doubt or fear. How could she trust him that much when in more than a few scenarios the next play with Moriarty could go sideways and change everything? “Sherlock?”_

_He heard the question in her voice but he made a decision, it was selfish but it was the only one he could solidly make. He wanted her, all of her and he wanted the memory of tonight no matter what happened tomorrow. He captured her lips and found the bottom of her shirt and pulled up. He lost her for only a second as he removed the material then her mouth slammed back onto his. He reached around and grasped the clasp in the middle of her back, recalling a video he had seen, he unhooked it easily with a smirk then grabbed her hips that were slowly grinding against him._

_Her hands ripped at his shirt and he leaned forward before flipping her underneath him. He smiled down as she finally got his shirt up and over his head with a triumphant grin. His gaze was drawn down to her exposed skin and the form she laid bare, perfect because it was her. He looked back up into her eyes and was hit with too many things. Her eyes were practically shouting, something he hadn’t really experienced before. Desire and trust staring him in the face. He paused, his decision coming back into play._

_“I love you.” She whispered and everything changed._

_It wasn’t about being selfish anymore, at least not completely. It was about sharing something, feeling something that he never thought he would allow. “Maybe you should hold that thought.” His cheeks grew hot as he thought about what was racing toward him like a freight train, getting closer every day._

_She laid her palms against his cheeks and gazed into his eyes. “There is nothing that you could do that would ever change that.”_

_That was it. He knew if tonight was his last night with her, it wouldn’t be over until she was drowning in every bit of pleasure he could coax out of her. It wasn't difficult, all he had to do was read her cues then act accordingly. He already had a mental list of her most sensitive places and he knew how to make her whimper his name. It was quickly becoming his favorite sound. “You really are special.” He lowered himself down gently as he sought out her mouth again._

_“You couldn't have anything less.” She jumped up and collided with his mouth. He winced as her soft laughter warmed his skin. “Sorry.”_

_He grinned, “learning curve.”_

_“Get down here and kiss me before I take over.” She yanked him down by his shoulders._

_“I’m going to do more than kiss you.”_

_Her hand dug in between their bodies and then slipped inside his boxer briefs just as his mouth captured hers silencing her reply. The game was on._

 

Sherlock surfaced from the memory and refocused on his surroundings. He was still leaning on the building across from 221B. He could still hear y/n’s moans in his head bringing a smile to his face but then he heard her laughter. His gaze shot to the door that stood open and she stepped out closing it behind her with something heavy in her arms. She was wearing his old coat and his smile grew. She turned and walked down the front stairs. His brows furrowed as he tilted his head taking in the small child in her arms. He couldn’t even guess its age due to the jacket and hat covering most of its features.  

Y/n walked a few steps down the street before turning into Speedy's. He wondered when she started babysitting but knew that wasn’t the only possibility. He had been gone two years and maybe the reason Mycroft hadn’t said anything was because she too had moved on. He had only told him about John moving on yesterday.

So, that was what Mary didn’t want John telling him. She had moved on with someone new and she had a child with him. He needed to leave but he couldn’t move a muscle. He never wanted to share her but to take down all arms of Moriarty’s network he couldn’t stay and keep her to himself. Now, his best option would be to share her with whoever it was that now held her heart and devotion, no matter how hard it would be. But he couldn’t move, he was stuck watching her from across the street.

The door to Speedy’s opened and John walked inside. She turned, smiled, and hugged him then the child exchanged hands and clapped John’s cheeks. It was odd seeing John with a child in his arms even more than seeing it in hers.

The hat was pulled off the child’s head revealing a mop of dark messy curls. His brows drew together as he leaned forward trying to get a closer look. She accepted a bag and followed John out the front door with the child still in his arm. John stopped on the sidewalk and turned to her talking with a measured expression. Sherlock wondered how long John would follow Mary’s instruction of not telling y/n that he was back.

The child squirmed until John set him on the ground in between them. The small boy played around John’s legs before walking over to her and around her feet. He was very stable on his legs putting the child over a year at least in age. He hopped over to the front steps of 221B and began clapping and chanting. “Mama and unca John. Mama and Unca John.”

Sherlock started across the road, his gaze fixed on the small, pale-faced child with dark curls falling across his forehead as he rocked his head side to side with his made up song.

“Will,” she called and held out her hand but the boy wasn’t paying any attention to his mother because his intense little eyes had locked on him.

The boy’s arms lifted up like reaching for him and yelled, “daddy!”

Sherlock froze in the middle of the street as little pieces of information crashed together. His last night with her two years ago, nine months average gestation making the child fifteen months give or take a few weeks, and the child with a head of unruly black curls reaching for him.

“Sherlock?” Her voice jolted him and then a horn blasted beside him. He glanced at the annoyed cabbie and continued across the street. He stepped onto the sidewalk and stopped as she continued toward him slowly. He waited for the hit only hoping that his nose wouldn’t get broken this time. She grabbed his coat and yanked him down before wrapping her arms around his neck.

Y/n shoved her face into his neck and he inhaled, breathing in the scent he called forth only on the nights when he didn’t mind torturing himself a bit further. It had changed slightly. He finally wrapped his arms around her with a slight squeeze. “It’s really you.” Her hot breath warmed his skin. “It’s really you.”

“I was waiting for you to hit me.” He confessed.

Somehow, she squeezed even closer and it thrilled him. “Why?”

“John attacked me a few times last night and gave me a bloody nose.” She pulled away and turned to look at John. He felt colder immediately.

John stood in front of the door to 221B with the squirming child in his arms. “Mary wouldn’t allow me to tell him but it was the reason that I hit him. Well, part of the reason.”

“Daddy!” The child called again with bright eyes.

“Since Mycroft obviously didn’t mention it.” She walked over and John handed the boy to her, his anger from the night before still simmering on the surface. She turned back to him with a grin. “I’d like to introduce you to William S. Holmes. Your son.”

Sherlock stared at the small round face and spat out the first thing he noticed. “He has your eyes.”

She laughed softly, “yeah. I was a little upset about that in the beginning.”

His brow scrunched together as he looked at her. “Why?” He watched as her gaze slid to the child in her arms and she poked his middle eliciting a round of giggles.

“Because he looked so much like you and I always loved your eyes.” Her gaze came back to his but there were tears in them now. She smiled and blinked them away. “Well, I need to get to work. Umm, do you want to go with John or do you have something to work on? I’m sure I could find you something.” She glanced behind her at John who stared at her in a way he used to stare at him.

Sherlock slid his gaze back to her and cleared his throat. “I have a case. From Mycroft. Terrorist threat.”

“Lovely.” She hugged Will and kissed both cheeks before turning to John. He walked forward and took him easily. The boy’s reaching arms and calls were gone, now Will stared at him with inquisitive eyes. His lips pursed together almost as if he were deducing the man he called Daddy, the man he’d never seen before.

Y/n disappeared behind the front door and Sherlock was left with John who was deftly hiding his anger when the child looked up at him and clapped his cheeks. “Unca John!” Then he pointed again at Sherlock. “Daddy.”

John nodded and forced a smile. “Yes, Will. That’s Daddy.”

Surprisingly, John was able to keep the anger out of his voice as well. Sherlock locked his hands together behind his back as he watched the interaction between the two and realized what he had missed last night when John was yelling. The added stressor had been y/n and the child she had carried then raised on her own, or at least in a way. She had said Mycroft didn’t tell him, so even Mycroft knew. Who else knew that the child was his? He hadn’t heard anything within the web of Moriarty’s network and that was the only calming thought.

“Sherlock?” Her voice called him back and he filed away the thoughts consuming him.

“Yes?”

“I’ll be back in a few hours. The flat is mostly the same.” She was still reading him but didn’t mention anything. “It’s nice to see you.”

She gave him another hug and he closed his eyes recording the feel of her before she could pull away he whispered, “better to see you.”

She smiled as she stepped back and her hand briefly touched his cheek before she turned and hailed a cab. Sherlock stood watching as she hopped inside and drove away.

“Did you want to hold him before we go?” John asked from beside him.

Sherlock eyed the child warily, “I don’t think I should without her here.”

“You wouldn’t break him,” John replied with a touch of humor.

Sherlock looked up at his friend, “you helped her.”

“It’s what friends do, Sherlock.”

Sherlock frowned, “I don’t have the first clue of what to do with a child.”

John handed the child over and the boy latched onto him. “Most new parents don’t.”

Sherlock wrapped his arms around Will and watched as he touched his scarf and then patted his cheeks. Sherlock stared into Y/n’s eyes and yet there was something there that was all his own. Will smiled then hugged him tightly, “daddy.”

“See. Not broken.”

Sherlock glanced at John but his gaze was drawn back to the child in his arms. His child. “Hi, Will.”

Will giggled and blew raspberries before wiggling to get down. Sherlock awkwardly put him down on the sidewalk and watched as he ran to John impressively for little legs. “You shaved.”

“Will always tugged on it.” John held Will with one arm and grabbed the stroller behind him with the other. “We better get going.”

“Right.” Sherlock looked around before watching John move to the edge of the sidewalk where a cab was idling. Will had his chin resting on John’s shoulder studying him. Sherlock raised his hand and Will giggled. Sherlock cocked his head as John put the stroller in the cab and then buckled Will into a small child’s seat.

John climbed in and shut the door then eyed Sherlock from his seat, his brow furrowing as Will waved excitedly beside him. John waved and Sherlock realized he still had his hand in the air. He gave a short wave then turned and walked through the front door with his mind spinning. He moved up the stairs redirecting his thoughts to the case instead of the new development driving away in a cab. But Y/n kept popping back into his mind. _She didn’t even hit me. She didn’t seem mad at all. She had raised their child. His child. He had a child with Y/n._


	10. Chapter 10

It wasn’t until after your final meeting that the shock from this morning came back to you. You were walking back to your office when you veered off and headed toward the elevator. The five-minute journey felt like forever but you finally made it to Mycroft’s office and strode past his assistant and through his door before she could take her eyes off her phone.

“Ah, Y/n. I’d like to say how unexpected but… well.” He smiled as he closed the file he was reading.

“Sorry, sir.” Anthea was holding the door waiting for Mycroft’s direction.

“Go.” You spat at the same time Mycroft commanded lazily.

“You could have said something! It wasn't just Moriarty’s network you were worried about finding out, was it?” You strode to his desk and flattened your hands on the soft cherry wood. “You didn’t want him finding out.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, “my little brother is not one for sentiment. Why would I worry?”

“Then why all the hush stuff? You told me it was for our protection! Come off it! You were worried that he would try to come back!” You kept your voice down but the steel was clear in your tone.

“He had a job to do, not just because we needed it done but because he needed it done. My brother has a soft spot for you and Watson. He has a fondness for friends that are only a liability and if you are put in danger that puts him in danger.”

“Wow. I didn’t know you cared.” You spat as you pushed off the desk.

“Interesting. You are not usually one to fly off the handle either.”

“Oh, shut up. You know damn well, I could’ve been trusted. That John and I could’ve been trusted! Hell, your parents know about…” You spun, “they knew, didn’t they? That he wasn’t dead? You forced them to lie to me!”

Mycroft slid a careful hand down his tie. “You know, I’m a little disappointed. For a smart woman who reads people for a living, I thought you had already figured it out and just kept it quiet in case John slipped.” He eyed you and you could see he still believed you had figured it out.

You scoffed, “please. John would’ve been fine.”

“Really? You’re sure his god awful blog posts wouldn’t become unexpectedly more upbeat, maybe a little less depressed? That someone might figure out why?”

“The last I can recall, you were the one that had slipped things.”

He leaned back and smiled, “that was all part of the plan.”

You smirked and crossed your arms. “Thank you.”

His smug look faltered. “What?”

“He had it figured out before, didn’t he? You both knew the possible moves he could make?” Mycroft looked down at his desk. “What about the shooter?” His gaze bounced back up, “the one across from the hospital. The one you told me was just in my head.”

“There was. I offered him a better deal and directed him away from the fire escape and front door where his intended target could possibly see him.” You shook your head and turned heading toward the door. “Lovely to see you. How is my nephew?”

“Fantastic. He saw his father for the first time ever in person today.” You paused at the door with your hand on the knob and glanced over your shoulder to look at Mycroft’s reaction. It was measured as you expected but then he surprised you.

“How do you think he took it?”

“Will or Sherlock?”

“I spoke with Sherlock,” he grimaced, “he made me play games with him this afternoon to distract him. I’m talking of my unfortunately named nephew, of course.”

“Great. He’s not even two yet, Mycroft. It’s not like he could hold a grudge.”

“Have you met a Holmes before? Ah, yes.” He smiled.

“You don’t hold grudges. You both come out on top every time because you’re always the smartest in the room. Stop gloating. It’s unbecoming.” You pulled the door open.

“Still on for tomorrow?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes. I’ll take care of your parents when you inevitably become too busy.” You stepped out of the room and Mycroft’s thank you was partially muffled by the closing door.

You gathered your things and locked your office before texting Mary that you were on your way. You really wanted to ask her just what exactly happened last night but refrained.

The whole way to John’s practice, you replayed all those moments through the years when you thought something was off, when you noticed a word or action from Mycroft that reminded you of Sherlock when he lied or looks from Molly that never quite made sense that you always reverted back to the crush she had on Sherlock. Had you somehow known deep down that it was a possibility and were just too afraid to hope it was true?

You picked up Will with a quick thank you to Mary who was helping a patient. You left a note on her desk that she should come over after Cath because you both knew John would be there.

The rest of the afternoon was taken up with running errands and then the park for Will as your mind continued to sift through memories where you felt like someone was watching and you had told yourself that it was Sherlock just because you liked the thought. Now, you couldn’t help but wonder but you had seen his face this morning, his reaction to Will was genuine. You didn’t know how long he had been over there watching but it hadn’t struck him that Will was his until he was in the street. It was the only explanation for him stopping and the blank look with just a touch of surprise in his brows.

All you had seen was Sherlock when you looked at Will, you had cherished it. You were so grateful that you had him because he had given you life. Those days after Sherlock’s death were dark, the months stretched on like a drawn out death sentence, unable to leave the flat behind yet haunted by every piece of Sherlock that was left there. You pulled his old coat around you tighter and breathed in deeply. It no longer smelled like him but that didn’t matter anymore.

“Mama?” Will climbed into your lap and you opened your arms allowing him to dig himself into your coat.

“Hmm?”

“Home?” He laid his head on your chest and you wrapped your arms around him as you stood.

“Homeward bound, love.”

The walk back to the flat was different. The thought of Sherlock being around was odd and yet you didn’t really know how to feel about it. Sherlock was like a child himself when it came to most things and it was never a problem before but now you had an actual child to look after and you wondered just how that would affect your relationship with Sherlock. You weren’t a different person exactly but becoming a mother, a single mother, had changed you. But as 221B came into view you knew that wasn’t a problem. Things might be odd at first just like it was for you when Will first came into your life but you would adjust just like you had then.

You had made it this far without someone living with you although Mrs. Hudson had become like a godmother at times always popping in to help when she thought you needed a hand. There was no reason to worry and yet, you worried how Sherlock would adjust. Children were an adventure but sometimes it could be dull.

You walked in the front door only moments after Will had fallen asleep with his face nestled in your neck. Mrs. Hudson greeted you silently and took the bag from your hand. She followed you upstairs and into the flat where you headed to your bedroom and laid Will down on the bed. You glanced around as you pulled off your coat and folded it over the back of the chair by the armoire noticing nothing out of place. You switched on the monitor beside the bed and grabbed the portable speaker before closing the door.

You found Mrs. Hudson pulling out tea cups in the kitchen and the kettle was already on. You thanked her as you walked into the sitting room and sighed at the wall covered in papers.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Mrs. Hudson walked into the room as you made your way over to the couch for a closer look at the cases spread out before you.

“How’s the terrorist case coming?”

“I’m not sure. He took a few clients today, though. With Molly.”

You turned, “really?”

She nodded then frowned, “yes, poor girl. Still has that thing for him.”

You smiled before turning back to the wall, “not something so easily given up when you are one of the few who know his secret.”

“What secret, dear?”

“She helped him make it so convincing. She knew he wasn’t dead.”

“Oh.” You heard her take a seat and you stepped up on the couch for a closer look at the picture of the man that caught your eye but you couldn’t pinpoint why. “You’re not mad at her?”

“What?” You turned and took in the concern, “at Molly? No. Of course not.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“She has her own replacement now.”

“Y/n!” She tried to use a scolding tone but she laughed. “That’s terrible.”

You stepped down from the couch. “I believe you were the one that said it first and got it stuck in my head. She's taking steps to move on and that's all that matters.”

“It was just an observation.” She chuckled and stood up. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I should be fine. Thank you, Martha.” You smiled warmly as she walked out of the room waving you off.

Your gaze went back to the wall and you heard a long ago familiar cadence on the stairs. You turned to the doorway and your breath caught as he rounded the turn on the stairs. He slowed, his gaze locked on you but he didn’t stop until he was standing in front of you. “Hello.”

His hand came up and touched your cheek. You closed your eyes and leaned into his cold palm. The bag he was carrying hit the floor and he framed your face, the chill seeping from his hands cooled the heat that flared under his touch. “I wanted to do this earlier.” His warm breath on your lips cued the butterflies to burst in your stomach.  

“Why didn’t you?” You whispered.

He pulled back enough for you to miss the warmth from his mouth. “I told you.” Your eyes shot open and he smiled, “I was waiting for you to hit me.”

“You would deserve it.”

“Sort of. But I was only doing what you told me.” He smirked and you looked at him in question. He grinned in full, “you told me to finish it and you would be here waiting.”

The words echoed in your head in your own voice and you remembered the goodbye you had redone so many times in your head. “I did, didn’t I?” You grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him back down to your lips. The kiss was rough and yet perfect. You slid your hands around his shoulders then shoved your right hand into his hair. His arms wrapped around you crashing your bodies together and you jumped up wrapping your legs around his waist. His lips stretched in a smile and you continued to kiss him anyway.

He laid you down on the couch as you pulled at his scarf and unbuttoned his coat. He chuckled before helping you. “I was working on a case.”

“Were you getting anywhere?” You asked before you kissed him and he pulled his arms out of his coat.

“No.”

“Good. You need a distraction then.” It was heady, frenzied, and everything you had dreamed for so many nights. It didn’t matter that you were both still dressed and by most standards at this age in your life, it was nothing much and yet it was everything. It was just the weight of his body on yours, his hands gripping and tantalizing, his lips and mouth taking and tasting. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes before the portable speaker started crackling and then the shifting on the sheets alerting you that Will was stirring.

“Sherlock.” You got out between kisses not wanting to stop but knowing you were about to get interrupted anyway.  

“Anything.”

You chuckled, “Will is waking up.”

He lifted his head and looked around as if he wasn’t sure who you were talking about and then the thud on the bedroom floor echoed through the speaker. Sherlock stood up and pulled you into a sitting position before running his hands down his shirt and adjusting his pants while clearing his throat. “That is an unfortunate attribute.”

You turned your head to look at him. “What?”

“His timing. Impeccable.”

“I wouldn’t really know. That’s never happened before.” You stood from the couch fixing your blouse then glanced at him catching his confusion before walking through the kitchen to meet Will on his way out.

“Hello, love. Did you have a good nap?”

Will rubbed his eyes as he padded toward you. “Drink.”

You picked him up and carried him into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a juice box. You turned to head to the sitting room and Sherlock stood in the doorway watching you. The corner of his mouth curled into a smirk.

“Daddy?” Will looked to you for confirmation before squinting at Sherlock.

“Yes. Daddy is back from very important work. He’s going to be around more now. Would you like that?” He took the juice box from you and popped the straw in his mouth while continuing to watch Sherlock.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and he cocked his head to the side. You had to smother a laugh at the sight. Sherlock’s gaze broke from your son’s and met yours. “He's trying to deduce me.”

You smiled, “I told you he was your son.”

A grin spread over his face so fast then Will parroted, “son.”

It was one of those moments when you knew the memory would forever be favored in your mind and you wanted it to last as long as possible. As with most your other memories of the kind, it ended too quickly.

Mrs. Hudson’s voice carried up the stairs. “Mary, what is it?”

“ **Someone’s got John**.”

“ **Mary?** ” You and Sherlock called at the same time.

Mary rushed into the flat pulling out her phone and talking quickly about texts she had received. Sherlock read the messages and then jumped into action grabbing his coat from the couch and rushing toward the door before he paused and turned to look at you.

You were standing just outside of the kitchen doorway holding Will to your chest. “Go!”

Sherlock rushed out the doorway and down the stairs with Mary close behind. You met Mrs. Hudson on the stairs and watched the door slam.

“Well, that didn't last long.” She gasped and turned to you, “sorry, dear. I didn't mean that he…”

“It's okay, Martha. You hit the nail on the head.” _And you don't even know how right you are_ , you thought with worry creeping along your spine. “We can't lose John. Not now.”

Will whimpered and squirmed in your arms trying to dig deeper into you.

“Sherlock won't let that happen, dear.” Mrs. Hudson whispered.

You kissed the top of your son’s soft head and Mrs. Hudson rubbed a hand down his back. “I know he’ll try.” You whispered but couldn't help the chill remembering the conversation you had with Mycroft earlier. You had been so careful after his death but now, with Sherlock living there, someone was bound to see the resemblance. If this attack on John was meant for Sherlock, your son was collateral even if they didn't understand that Sherlock had only just met him and couldn't have formed a bond so soon.

Taking John was a literal blow to Sherlock. It was John he trusted enough to show something he knew the world didn't agree with, John the first man that Sherlock was even willing to call friend.

John made his association public, though. You had no trouble staying in the shadows, playing behind the scenes because you just worked better that way. Some would say it was cheating being able to see them when they couldn't see you but you called it survival. You preferred the advantage and hated the spotlight. That was why Mycroft liked you immediately and stole you away from the law firm. It was one of the things that caught Sherlock’s attention too.

“What should we do?” Mrs. Hudson turned to you before looking back at the door.

You gazed at the closed door holding Will tighter against you. “Saint James the less is twenty minutes give or take by car but Sherlock would find a faster route. All we can do is wait, I’ll call Mary in thirty minutes if we don't hear from them.” You kissed your son's head again before turning and walking back up the stairs. “Come on, love. How about some hot chocolate?”

Mrs. Hudson’s steps followed behind you and you were thankful. You didn't want to be alone because you knew the next thirty minutes were going to feel like a lifetime.

You were upstairs sitting in John’s chair with Will in your lap reading one of his favorite books when your phone chirped. Mrs. Hudson was standing in the kitchen and rushed over. You picked up your phone expecting to see that at least forty-five minutes had passed but it had only been fifteen.

_We’ve got John. Looks minimal, getting him checked out to be safe. I'll send an update. -Mary_

You exhaled, “they've got him. Mary's getting him checked out but he seems fine.”

“See, dear! Everything as it should be.” She ruffled Will’s hair before heading to the kitchen. “Do you think I should make some tea? Maybe they’d like some tea when they get back.”

“I don't think John and Mary will come back tonight.”

“Well, you and Sherlock, at least. It's a good soother. Or maybe something stronger. I’ll have a look in my kitchen.”

You lifted Will and walked to the bathroom, “how about a nice warm bath before bed?” He shook his head and clutched onto you. “But you love baths!” You laughed, trying to lighten the mood but he wouldn't have it. You sighed, “okay. Should we just snuggle in mama’s bed?” He nodded and you changed course.

You were still laying in bed with Will when you heard the noises in the kitchen. Two different sets of foot traffic telling you Mrs. Hudson followed Sherlock up but before you could slip out from underneath Will, it had grown quiet. You grabbed the portable speaker and padded into the kitchen.

He was sitting alone in the darkened room and the whole area reeked of a campfire. “Sherlock?” He turned his head toward you. “Why do you smell like a bonfire?”

“Guy Fawkes night.”

Your stomach plummeted. “Where was John?”

“Inside. Some paralytic, he could barely talk.”

You walked over and knelt in front of him. He winced when you touched his hand. You glanced down and even in the dim light from the nightlight on the kitchen counter, you could see the angry red line peeking out from between his glove and the end of his coat sleeve. “Sherlock.”

“I'm fine.”

You looked up into his eyes and couldn't help but read the confusion and anger. “Please.”

His jaw muscles clenched then he nodded and pulled off his gloves. You stood up and stepped between his legs before pushing his coat off his shoulders then one at a time carefully pulled the sleeves over his wrists. He leaned forward and let you take the coat from behind him. You folded it over the chair beside him on your way to the cabinet next to the fridge where you kept a first aid kit and turned on the kitchen light.

With the kit in hand, you walked back over to him, opened it on the table and pulled out what you needed feeling his eyes on you the entire time. Once you were satisfied you had everything ready, you knelt in front of him and placed his wrist on his leg carefully. You glanced up at him before dabbing ointment on it. “How bad is it?”

His brow furrowed as he looked down at you, “I told you it was fine.”

“I meant John and what happened tonight. What did happen?” You looked at him as you plucked the roll of gauze from the table.

“People took him from the sidewalk out front. He woke up in the pile unable to move or make a sound. We got there just in time.”

“Do you know why or who?”

He stared at the gauze you wrapped around his wrist for a moment then said, “no.”

You grabbed the scissors and snipped the gauze. “Sherlock.”

You watched him and his gaze flicked to yours. “No.” His voice was low and forceful then he looked away, his lips drawn tight.

You nodded and put the scissors down on the table, grabbed the tape, and finished the wrap. “We’ll take that off in the morning and check it.”

“Yes, nanny.”

Your gaze flicked up to his. “Don't.” He dropped his gaze and you knew he was beating himself up for not knowing, for not being able to figure it out. You stood up and replaced the items in the kit. “You should try to get some sleep. You’ll need the energy tomorrow to solve the underground terrorist.”

“I don't have a room anymore. Well, I guess John’s bed is still up there.”

You closed the kit and turned to him, “your bed is still here.”

He gazed up at you and looked so much like Will you had to hold back tears. “That's your bed.”

“It's still yours. If you're okay with that.”

“What about Will?”

“He sleeps in his crib.”

He dropped your gaze and seemed to mull it over. You put the first aid kit away and came back to him. You touched his cheek gently, “can I please take care of you? If only for tonight? I promise no distractions tomorrow, you'll have your energy back and free reign of the sitting room.”

His gaze trailed lazily up to yours. He turned his head and kissed your palm. “If you want.”

You took his hand and guided him back to the bedroom. Then lifted Will carefully from the bed and placed him in his crib. Sherlock was staring at the bed as you walked to the dresser and opened the top drawer. You pulled out one of his old tee shirts and a sleep top for yourself before walking back to him. You had unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt before he came back from wherever he had zoned off to.

He grasped your hands while you were pulling the next button open. “I'm sorry.”

You looked up and the sincerity in his eyes pulled at you. His mask was down, completely lowered and he was standing in front of you vulnerable and looking so much like a lost child it hit you square in the gut. “I understand. I know Moriarty’s network was… vast and we were all in danger.” Your gaze dropped to the next button and you slid your fingers down, his hands not letting go but not stopping you. “You did the only thing that was logical.”

“Not the only thing.” His voice was so deep it reverberated through you.

You popped out the next button and then the next. “You did what you had to do. So, did Mycroft.”

“What does Mycroft..?”

“He had Will’s records sealed, no one can get his birth certificate without extremely high-level security clearance and of course Mycroft’s signature. And he didn't tell you because I'm sure in that complex mind of his, he saw that as the route with the least amount of possible backfire or damage. As blasé as he acts, family still means something to him. I believe your parents deserve that credit.”

He released your hands and let you continue. “He said he thought it would only distract me, it would clog up the pathways, I believe.”

“Do you really think he believed that?”

“It's possible.”

You undid the last button then unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, dropped the zipper, and allowed gravity to do the rest. Then you opened his shirt and slid your hands up over his stomach, chest, and shoulders. You met his eyes as you smoothed your palms across his shoulders and slipped his shirt off. You felt scars along your path but didn't say anything about them or the wince as he moved his arm.

He threw his shirt into the hamper in the corner of the room where it always stood as you picked up his tee shirt. You opened it but he shook his head. “No.”

You started to turn to put it back but he grabbed your arm and kept you in place. You looked up questioning but he only smirked. He started with your top button and you sucked in a breath as he moved down quickly and efficiently. He opened your shirt and drank you in. His fingertips gliding over the curves along your sides that were new to him then over your breasts. His gaze flicked up to yours accompanied by a small smile before he made quick work of your bra and slipped both items off your shoulders.

“And you didn't share this with anyone? That's quite selfish.”

“Who said I didn't?” He quirked a brow and you smirked, “I told you I don't need a man to live.”

“That is true.” He undid the button on your pants, pulled the zipper down, then pushed the jeans down over your hips. You reached for the tank top but he plucked it up before you could. “Do you really want this?”

“I will need it at some point. Did you have something in mind?” You watched him, wondering what was going on in his head.

“You mentioned no distractions tomorrow.” He ran his fingertips over your collarbone before gliding down between your breasts. His eyes widening at your shiver and quick inhale.

“If you're asking to touch me then please do.”

He smiled as he leaned down and stopped with his lips mere inches from yours. “I want to do so much more than just touch.” His deep voice flowing through you igniting your skin.

You threw your arms around his neck and crashed into his lips just before tumbling to the mattress.

It wasn't as much like your past nights together as you thought it would be but then he had always been a quick study and locked away information he deemed necessary. Your most erogenous spots were apparently very important and the learning curve, even though it had been two years, seemed to be gone.

You moved fluidly together both taking your time to become familiar again without the tentative and shy nature that had colored a lot of your nights together before. He traversed the new landscape and found new points of interest while you did the same taking special care with his scars and more recent wounds. It was hard to keep up with him when the man could do things with his hands that didn't seem possible but you were determined nonetheless.

The one thing that didn't change over the years was Sherlock Holmes never failed to provide an excellent distraction.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some lines borrowed from The empty hearse in BOLD.
> 
> A/N: Since there’s never been a first name for Mrs. Holmes, I’ve named her after a famous English Female mathematician. It seemed appropriate. :)

You overheard Mrs. Holmes from the bedroom as you dressed and Will stared inside his drawer with his hand curled around his chin. After another fifteen minutes of coaxing Will to choose instead of falling into a meltdown, you walked into the kitchen and bit your lip to avoid laughing at the look on Sherlock’s face.

“Granma! Granpa!” Will shouted as he rushed through the kitchen and over to the couch.

“Poppet!” Mrs. Holmes grabbed him up and covered his face with kisses. Will’s giggles filled the room and you looked at Sherlock watching the emotions play across his face then the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Someone missed their grandma.” You smiled as you walked into the room toward the couch where Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were fawning over Will. Mr. Holmes pulled a small toy from his pocket and Will’s eyes grew large, joy and excitement taking over his small form.

You felt Sherlock’s gaze and turned your head to look over your shoulder. You never liked to pry by reading someone when it wasn't called for but you couldn't help it with Sherlock. The question was clear on his face but his eyes were revealing something confusing. Before you could really figure it out, Mrs. Holmes’s voice broke your concentration.

“I'm so sorry, dear.” You turned back to her, your brow furrowed. Will was in his grandfather’s lap playing with his new toy and she was pleading with you.

“For what?” You asked. Sherlock cleared his throat and stood as his mother continued to implore you with a sincere apology on her face. You shook your head with a smile, “no. Please don't. Everyone did what they had to do. And you,” you walked over to the two people who gave you and your son the most and knelt in front of them.

_You stood on the doorstep of a gorgeous house beside Mycroft staring at the door anxious for it to open yet terrified for what would come after. You expected the worst knowing that Sherlock’s opinions on sex and relationships had come from being raised in a traditional home and he had a lasting respect for his parents. His construct of beauty and happiness had come from growing up inside these walls and you thought they'd take one look at you and hate you for making their boy untraditional, sex and a child out of wedlock. But then the door had opened and she hugged you whispering sweet things in your ear about your loss even though she was suffering too. They took you in as their own and treated you as if you'd been a part of the family for years on nothing other than your word and Mycroft’s silent nod._

You blinked back the tears welling in your eyes at the memory, “you two gave us everything. Please do not feel like you've wronged us.” You took Mrs. Holmes’ hand, “please Ada. I could never forgive myself if you felt you had anything to apologize for. You were protecting your son and us.” Mr. Holmes looked at his wife and you knew she felt the most responsible. You gazed into her eyes, “I understand what a mother will do to protect her son and everything you did was completely innocent. Please believe me. You gave us a family and I can never repay that.”

Mrs. Holmes’s eyes filled with tears, “sweet girl.” She reached forward and pulled you into a strong hug. “What I ever did to deserve you.”

You patted her back as you met Mr. Holmes’s gaze. “You raised an excellent son.”

“Here, here.” Mr. Holmes exclaimed and Will mimicked him as best as he could.

Mrs. Holmes released you and the door opened. John stopped and glanced between the crowd at the couch and Sherlock still standing in front of his chair staring at you. “Did I come at a bad time?”

Mrs. Holmes swiped at her eyes. “Not at all, John. Just a family moment.” She glanced at you with a smile as you stood.

You turned and found Sherlock’s gaze immediately. There was too much swirling on the surface to be able to pinpoint any one dominant emotion. You smiled quickly before dropping your gaze as you brushed some hair behind your ear. You turned and cleared your throat, “we've got plans to keep then. Sorry, we took so long. Will had trouble choosing socks and almost everything else.” You smiled down at Will.

Mrs. Holmes brightened as she turned to her husband. “Oh, dear, remember when Sherlock refused to dress in anything other than those silly jumpers?”

His father laughed. “Until that raincoat.”

“Okay! Didn’t you say something about plans?” Sherlock rushed over to the couch.

Mrs. Holmes stood up, “maybe we could try Parliament again. They weren't letting anyone in because of some big debate.”

“I'm sure we could get Mycroft to help with that.” You smiled, “you’re here til Saturday, right?”

You started toward the door gathering up the bag and coats you had placed by the door for this morning’s outing.

“Yes. Did Mycroft tell you he got us seats at Les Miserable tomorrow?”

“Really?” You glanced at Sherlock, “I'm going to be busy tomorrow. How many tickets did he get?”

“He could only get three.” Mr. Holmes said as he carried Will through the door.

Sherlock tried ushering his mother through the room faster but she was determined to say her piece to him. You smiled as he finally got her out the door but his mother stopped him before he could shut it.  **“I can't tell you how glad I am that everything has worked out.”**

 **“Ring up more often, won't you? She worries.”**  Mr. Holmes added.

 **“Promise.**  Just because she actually calls me doesn't mean I don't want to hear from my son.”

Sherlock glanced back at John before meeting your gaze. You were pinching your lips together trying not to laugh. He looked down but you caught the quirk at the corner of his mouth.  **“I promise.”**

Mrs. Holmes touched his cheek and he closed the door. You started down the stairs, “so, what would you like to do first?”

“The park!” Will shouted.

“Well, that’s decided.” Mrs. Holmes nodded.

~~

It was late when Sherlock finally got in and you were just dozing off. You listened to the steps from the kitchen to the sitting room and pictured his movements in your head. He finally came back through the kitchen and moved quietly into the bedroom.

You rolled over and lifted heavy eyelids, “hey, love.” He froze. “What is it? I didn't hear a bomb go off.” You pushed up on your elbows, “is John okay?”

“He’s fine.” He whispered but still had yet to move.

“Oh.” You laid back down and got comfortable on the pillow again, “what's wrong then?” You closed your eyes, too tired to fight them anymore.

He took off his shirt and pants before answering, “you called me love.”

You giggled. “Oh, Sherlock. You knew that already.”

The bed dipped beside you and then his lips pressed to your cheek. “I should since you and my mother are on a first name basis.”

“Silly, silly, Sherlock.” You mumbled, sleep pulling you down into the mattress, “that raincoat really was adorable, though.” You grinned as you dug your head into your pillow.  

He slipped his arm around your waist and pulled you to him. “I never knew how dangerous you really were.”

“Never take your eyes off me.” You were waging war to stay awake but losing quickly. You barely heard his reply before falling off to sleep.

“I don't plan to.”

~~

John and Mary were the first to arrive the next day for the welcome back celebration. You were surprised that Sherlock had agreed to it at all let alone was actually happy about it. Giddy was actually the word you would use and the mere thought made you laugh.

John opened a bottle of champagne and filled the four glasses on the table as you sat next to Mary on the couch. “We’re going to need more glasses.” John grinned then walked out of the room.

Your gaze shifted to Sherlock, “John forgave you?”

He smirked, “I gave him a very compelling reason to.”

Mary narrowed her eyes, “you have to tell us now.”

John walked back into the room with more glasses, “tell you what?”

“The story of how you came around to forgiving Sherlock.” You eyed Sherlock noticing his smile growing slowly with that mischievous glint in his eye.

John pivoted and pointed his finger at Sherlock, “no! Scouts honor! You swore!”

Mary’s brow furrowed, “you were a scout?”

Sherlock shook his head, “they clearly want to know. Do you want me to ignore your soon to be wife’s question?”

“Don't you try to…”

“Oh, come on, John. It couldn't have been that bad.” You smiled as Will pulled at John’s pant leg.

John leaned down to Will who pouted, “story, unca John.”

Mary chuckled as John’s face fell. Sherlock grinned, “well, I can't say no to that face.” He walked through finding the bomb on the train and the panic that followed when Sherlock realized he couldn't turn off the bomb. You kept lifting your champagne glass out of Will’s reach during the story and grabbed the juice box you brought out for him as Sherlock got to John’s apology.

“You didn't.” You handed Will his juice box hiding your smirk at Sherlock.

“Yes, he bloody well did!” John replied as Will skipped over to him.

“Oh John, I'm sorry.” You chuckled and Mary snorted.

She covered her mouth and then apologized to John. “I'm sorry but really, it is rather funny.”

“Unbelievable!” John threw his hands up and Will parroted the action.

“You're terrible.” You smacked Sherlock as he came over and sat next to you on the couch. You grinned and shoved your shoulder into him.

He turned to you, his brow drawn together and then laughed as you tried biting back your smile. He touched your knee and slid his hand up your thigh before letting go.

“Oh my god!” Everyone's head snapped in Mary’s direction at her outburst. You had missed her movement but she now stood next to John with wide eyes directed at you. “Oh, God. I said that out loud.”

John followed her gaze to you then studied her, “Mary?”

“Ummm, you okay?” You asked with your brows raised and quick shake of your head before John glanced back at you and your furrowed your brow.

“Oh my god, you have! Again? I thought it had just been a one-time thing because he was gay?” She smirked.

“Who's gay?” John asked.

“Ay!” Will threw up his hands smiling at John.

You laughed as John tried his best to smile for Will. “I always thought pansexual, to be honest.” Sherlock turned to you with a deep v in his brow and that little head tilt. You shrugged,”or asexual, but then…” you grinned dropping your gaze to the couch.

John glanced between Mary and you before considering Sherlock. “Do you know what the bloody hell is happening?”

Sherlock pulled his gaze from you and studied the amusement on Mary’s face, “I think Mary realized we had sex.”

“What? Who?”

Sherlock frowned, “really, John?”

John glanced at Mary then turned back to you pointing his finger at you then Sherlock, “are you telling me you two?” His face fell, “you know what I'm leaving this conversation.” He turned and strode toward the kitchen with Will mimicking his movements as best as his little legs could.

You and Mary burst out laughing and Sherlock tried to call him back, “we’re all adults here. Mostly.”

Mrs. Hudson walked into the sitting room with a bottle of champagne and Greg Lestrade following close behind. You and Mary greeted them as John picked up Will who was playing with his pants again. Sherlock’s phone rang and he glanced at the ID then stood up to leave the room. “Tell him I'm not doing it either.” You threw out and Sherlock glanced back at you with a wink as he left the room.

John strolled back into the sitting room, greeting the two newcomers while taking the champagne from Mrs. Hudson. He sat Will next to you on the couch with a questionable look your way. You rolled your eyes, John Watson could be such a drama queen.

He leaned down to Mary, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and whispered something that made her smile before striding into the kitchen. Will jumped into Mrs. Hudson’s lap right when she sat down as small talk and pleasantries were exchanged.

You stood from the couch allowing Mary to take your place closer to Mrs. Hudson who had a string of questions about the upcoming plans for the happy couple. You poured two glasses of champagne and handed one to Mrs. Hudson before walking over to Lestrade sitting in John’s chair. You flashed a grin as you handed him the glass.

He thanked you as he accepted the drink then nodded to Will. “Kid’s getting bigger every day.”

You looked over catching Will trying to sip from Mrs. Hudson’s glass and chuckled. “I’d say he needs to slow down but we all know that won't stop him.”

Sherlock strolled back into the sitting room with the other bottle of champagne and picked up your glass from the table refilling it from the new bottle. He turned, his gaze sweeping the room as he placed the bottle on the table. He spotted you and walked over.

 **“You will be there, Sherlock.** ” Mary pointedly told him.

He threw her a tight smile as he handed you the glass, “ **weddings, not really my thing.** ” He winked at her and you giggled softly. He narrowed his eyes at you as you broke into a grin before turning and stepping to the side of the window to look out without being seen.

He stood beside you and you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. “Savoring it or delaying the gratification?”

He turned his head toward you and grinned.

**“Hello everyone.”**

**“Molly.”**  

**“This is Tom. Tom, this is everyone.”**

More greetings chorused as you watched Sherlock gaze out the window. “Well, don't leave them waiting too long. They can be vicious.”

The only sign that he heard you was the small quirk at the corner of his mouth.  **“Ready?”**  He called as he turned, his mouth stretching into a grin as his eyes met yours for a brief moment before continuing on toward the door.

You watched him as he paused, knowing he was finally laying eyes on Molly’s boyfriend. Your gaze flicked to John’s face and you could see the slight wince in his eyes as he took in Sherlock’s expression. The silence was tense and everyone in the room was waiting for one of Sherlock’s caustic observations. You bit your lip to fight off the giggles about to burst, a problem you had since you were a child. Your father always found your church giggles absolutely amusing.

Sherlock stuck out his hand and greeted the look alike with a handshake before leaving the room without a word.

John glanced at you and you pulled your lips in between your teeth as the urge to laugh built up again. You felt more eyes on you and found Mrs. Hudson giving you a pointed look and Mary’s wide eyes as she also pinched her lips together. You shrugged and turned back to the window taking another step to the side making doubly sure should anyone look up hoping for a glimpse of the infamous detective, they wouldn't see you.

The nebulous blob of press randomly mingled and paced with one eye on the front door. Some fiddled with their hair while others adjusted their equipment and a few photographers were lingering across the street smoking to pass the time. You wondered what was taking the boys so long to get out there when the mob smashed into a tight pack around the two men that stepped onto the sidewalk.

Lestrade walked right up to the window and looked down. “He loves it, doesn't he?”

“Aspects of it, I'm sure. This is like a big fuck you to all those who believed he was a fraud and all the other lies. Not only indestructible but still on his game.” You smiled at the deerstalker on his head.

He laughed then nodded before he glanced over to Molly, and leaned in whispering, “so ahh…”

You leaned against the wall, swirling the champagne in the glass and watched the bubbles float to the surface. “I tried describing what a relationship with a sociopath would be like but maybe it's just the look. I think she knows that Sherlock couldn't make her happy and she’s trying to get past it and move on.” You chuckled, “did you notice Sherlock didn't say anything?”

Lestrade looked down, “he's trying. You're good for him.”

“John’s good for him.”

He turned his head to face you. “Just because it's a secret, doesn't mean I can't speak the truth to you.”

You smiled, “half truth.”

He rolled his eyes, “you're perfect for each other.”

You squeezed his arm with a chuckle. “Thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn't miss this for the world.” He lifted the champagne glass as if in a toast then sipped from it.

Will ran over and tugged on your pants. You lifted him up and he pointed to the picture of John and Sherlock on the mantle. “Daddy. Unca John!”

“Probably going to have to get that under control now that he's around and with everything...”

You gave Greg a tight smile. “I know. It's gonna be hard, though.”

“We've got good covers for it if it happens.”

“Yeah, but not everyone is gonna fall for the ‘he calls everyone that’. Not with his resemblance.”

“You could cut his hair.”

You raised your brow, “excuse me?”

He raised his hands in surrender, careful with his glass of champagne that Will reached for. “Just a suggestion, not even a good one.”

“Nice recovery.”

“I'm pretty good. I've had years of experience.” He looked down at Sherlock, “years.”

You smiled as you scanned the room for Will’s juice box then turned to grab it from the arm of Sherlock’s chair. “We shouldn't leave juice on furniture.” You rubbed your nose against his before handing over his juice.

“So,” Greg glanced over his shoulder at Molly and Tom then Mary. “John’s gonna ask Sherlock to be his best man, isn't he? This could get interesting.”

“Well, with his organizational skills and that mind of his, he'd probably be really helpful in wedding planning. You know despite his opinion on love and marriage.”

Greg furrowed his brow as he watched you. “Yes, those.”

You rolled your eyes, “I can hear what you're not saying. I told you a relationship with a sociopath is different. Everyone is different.”

“Your dad… Was he?”

“He was good.” You glanced at Will. “Not always present but it would be impossible for him to be. When I got older, I was more interesting, more of a challenge, and I think he saw a lot of himself in me. It's not easy to be a parent when your brain is wired a certain way but I've heard of others that were great.” You ran your fingers through Will’s curls as he played with your necklace happily sipping his juice. “I think sometimes it also comes down to a person’s interests. I thought about doing a study once but it's difficult because so many parents that do have sociopathic tendencies don't want to reveal it for fear their children will be taken away. People hear sociopath or any mental illness and automatically judge your worth as something less because they don't understand and won't bother to take the time to understand. It's stigmatized.” You sighed and gave Greg a tight smile, “sorry, I just started rambling there.” You brushed some hair behind your ear as you gazed out the window. Sherlock and John stood out in the mob of cameras and microphones.

He chuckled, “nothing to be sorry about. You are one of a kind.”

“Oh, please, I'm sure there's a bunch of women out there in this city just like me.”

“Sure, there's a city full of smart and beautiful women but not one of them would be an equal to Sherlock like you are. It's fascinating, actually. And I'm just stating the facts. Out of all the people in this city, maybe this country, you both just seem to work and that's not something I ever thought was possible.”

You narrowed your eyes, “what are you trying to get at?”

He raised his brows, “what? I can't give a compliment to a friend?”

“Greg?”

“Okay, so there’s this woman…”

You let out a bark of laughter, “really? You didn't have to butter me up to ask for advice.” You nudged him with your elbow.

“What? I was simply making conversation and an observation came up.”

“What kind of advice does the ever charming Greg Lestrade need with this smart and beautiful lady?” Will suddenly grabbed your face and gave you a sloppy kiss before wiggling to get down.

Greg laughed, “maybe Will’s got the right idea. Just go in fast and leave them wanting more?”

You shook your head, “yeah, might not want to start with that but it depends, she might be really into that.”

A round of applause broke out in the room and you looked out the window to see the crowd had dispersed.

“The men of the hour!” Mary laughed applauding Sherlock and John as they stepped further inside the room. John closed the door behind them as Sherlock made his way toward you.

“Lestrade.” He nodded.

“Holmes.” Greg grinned before nodding to you and walking over to the group.

“Nice touch with the hat.” You reached up and brushed your fingers through his curls slightly flattened to his forehead.

“John says it's good for the image.” He grinned before he glanced back at Greg. “So, you and Lestrade are friends?”

“He helped me with a few things when I was pregnant. I confided in him before Will came. He’s a great guy.”

Sherlock nodded with a tight-lipped smile and looked out the window. “Yup.”

You watched him for a moment but he didn't meet your gaze. You smirked and changed the subject. “That was very big of you, the quiet handshake over there.”

He looked at you with a subtle shake of his head. “Not saying a word.”

“I think John is rubbing off on you.”

“Someone sure is putting a lot of stake into one small action.”

“Mmm. Yes, detective. Maybe it's just… Coincidence.”

His brow furrowed and he turned his head to you with a hint of annoyance as his argument fired up in his mind. You broke out into a brilliant grin and he chuckled, dropping his gaze for a moment.  “I don't think I really remembered how funny you are.”

His gaze came back up to yours and caused a sharp inhale. You cleared your throat. “I have been brushing up a bit. Everyone could use a good laugh now and then. A nice pump of endorphins to fire up the synapses and so on.”

His gaze trailed over every inch of your face before stopping on your mouth and setting your skin ablaze with his quiet yet deep voice. “Yes, they could.”

“Y/n would love to be a bridesmaid, wouldn't you?” Mrs. Hudson’s voice broke the spell and you turned taking a deep breath.

“Me?” You looked to Mary and shook your head, “I mean it would be an honor but with Will, I don't want to make anything harder and don't you say we can deal with it. If you want to have the wedding in May, you've only got six months to get everything done. I work better behind the scenes anyway.”

Mary gave you that secret smile and you tilted your head down to hide the blush you could feel reheating under your cheeks. “That's what I tried telling her.”

Will tripped on a book and tumbled to your feet giggling. You took the opportunity to break from the conversation and bent down to check on him even though you knew he was fine. You glanced up and noticed the sitting room had broken into a few different conversations and most probably missed the exchange.

Sherlock squatted beside you, “you don't want to be there?”

“Oh, I'll be there, just not part of all the traditions. I’d rather sit back and watch. Don't worry, I’ll help you with the planning.”

“What?”

You smirked, “I don't like to give away surprises.” 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lines borrowed from The sign of three in BOLD.

It was quiet in the bedroom when you woke. You stretched while scanning the room and both the other side of the bed and the crib were empty. You slid off the bed and pulled your over-sized sweater on then strolled down the hall into the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson was sitting at the table and Will’s booster seat was on the chair next to her along with a messy plate with bits of leftover pancake but no Will. She turned in her seat and smiled. You questioned her silently with a glance at Will’s chair and she pointed to the sitting room.

You walked to the doorway and heat bloomed in your chest. Sherlock was in his chair clearly working a case out in his head and Will was sitting indian style in John’s chair mimicking him right down to the steepled fingers. You turned back to Mrs. Hudson with a grin and whispered, “how long have they been like that?”

“About ten minutes or so. It’s adorable. I don’t know how Will does it.” She tilted her head down and her brow rose, ‘I want a picture.”

You couldn’t argue with her and rushed back to the bedroom for your phone. You walked quietly into the room to get the right angle to capture both of them and hoped Will wouldn’t move. Mrs. Hudson was right, this was adorable. You took a few shots just in case then walked back into the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson put a cup of coffee on the table then looked at the pictures with you. “I want a copy.”

“Of course.”

She glanced back at the sitting room. “They’re getting along quite well. I never thought I’d see the day, Sherlock a daddy.”

You put your phone down and picked up your coffee gazing through the doorway at Sherlock. “I did. I knew it wouldn’t be easy but… I had a feeling he’d be good with Will.” You pictured your father running around the back yard with you and sitting down at his easel as he taught you primary colors and the importance of brush strokes.

“Your parents would’ve been so proud of you.” Mrs. Hudson’s smile was warm and her gaze soft but then something caused you to look closer. She turned looking at Sherlock but you could still make out the smirk and the crinkle at the corner of her eye. “I don’t know how they’d feel about your choice in men, though.”

You chuckled, “you love him. Don’t even try to pretend.”

She walked around the table and picked up Will’s plate laughing softly. “He’s a good man, no one is denying that.” She scraped the remains in the trash and carried the plate to the sink. “He’s odd but John and you have really brought him round. I think Will could do amazing things for him. The way he lights up around him. They even tried playing operation the other day while you were out. Will couldn’t really get the hang of it but they certainly had a good time.” Her face lit up clearly recalling the memory.

You carried your mug over to the doorway and leaned against the door frame. Sherlock’s brow quirked and he tilted his head. Will followed right along and giggled. Sherlock’s mouth opened with a sharp inhale and his eyes widened. He released his hands then his gaze focused on Will. A grin spread across his face. “Did you figure it out too?”

Will stood up and jumped across to Sherlock. You gasped but Sherlock caught him easily then looked up at you. “Morning.”

“Mama! Brilliant!” Will threw his arms up in the air. “Brilliant duction.”

You chuckled as Sherlock smiled down at him. “You two working well together?”

“Extremely. Will is my most valuable asset these days.”

“Ass..” His small brow furrowed as he looked up at Sherlock for help. “Ass.”

Sherlock laughed, “great talking board.”

“Bored.” Will nodded at you beaming.

“Well done then.”

“Park?” Will asked.

“I did promise the park if I solved it, didn’t I?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes and rubbed his chin.

Will pouted then giggled when Sherlock winked. “Park!”

“Alright, real clothes first then park.” Sherlock placed him on the floor and he rushed to you then pulled your sweater as he moved toward the bedroom.

“Mama! Clothes!”  

Mrs. Hudson chuckled as she reached for your mug, “I’ll put that coffee in a thermos. Go on before he pulls that off you.”

Sherlock followed you to the bedroom and you caught his gaze after he shut the door. “Are you sure? I can take him if you’ve got somewhere to be or work to do.”

He shook his head as he threw his house coat over the chair by his armoire. “I made a promise I can’t break.”

Will pulled clothes out of his drawer dropping shirts and pants on the floor in his search. “Do you want some help?” You leaned down but he finally found the black pants he was searching for and a blue shirt.

He beamed up at you as he handed you his choices. “Pease.”

You helped Will out of his pajamas and into the clothes that looked an awful lot like what Sherlock was wearing. “I think you have a fan of your fashion.”

“If anything is worth doing, it’s worth doing right.” His hand brushed your exposed shoulder before he kissed your neck. “Did you want to come?”

“Yes! Mama come!” Will jumped up and down and almost tripped on his pants that you were pulling up his legs.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” You chuckled pulling his pants all the way up and securing them. You looked up at Sherlock, “would you mind putting a bagel in the toaster for me? I’ll change and be right out.”

He smirked, “you should wear that.”

You rolled your eyes as you stood, “so my shoulder can freeze? No thanks.”

He quirked his brow, “I’ll keep you warm.”

“What has gotten into you?”

He slipped his arm around your waist and pulled you against him as Will opened the door and rushed out. “It’s a good day.” His gaze fell to your lips and you inhaled. He leaned down and kissed you. “A very good day.”

You grinned as he pulled away and backed out of the room while Will sang to Mrs. Hudson, “park, park, park.”

“Toasted bagel.” He winked, “you better hurry or he might leave you behind.”

You laughed softly as he closed the door. Even though you had always thought Sherlock would be a good father by drawing on memories of your own, you never could imagine what it would truly be like. Sherlock continued to surprise even you with just how well he adapted to Will and found ways of making even his most distracted moments work. You knew there would be bad days, that was just a part of life, but taking as much time as you could to be fully present during the good times was the important part. Your mother had taught you that.  

You were just pulling on your jeans when you heard the stampeding little steps toward the door followed by the rapid fire knocking. “Mama! Go?”

You opened the door and lifted Will into your arms then poked his belly. “Alright, speed racer. I’m the slow poke, huh?” You carried him into the kitchen giggling where Sherlock stood with a small bag and a thermos.

“Breakfast?” He grinned.

“Am I dreaming?” You tilted your head at Will, “this must be a dream.”

“Noooo.” Will giggled then thrust his arm toward the door and pointed like he was leading the charge. “Park!”

Today was going to be a very good day.  
~~

The cab finally stopped in front of 221B and you jumped out with a deep breath of the frigid January air. You blew it out slowly focusing on leaving the mess from work behind you as you walked to the front door pulling out your keys.

Mycroft had a man from Moriarty’s Serbian connections in the box and the interview you had to watch had unnerved you. You had no idea why he thought you would be able to discern the man’s words when he kept describing what he had done to Sherlock only three months ago. You knew the man was trying to get at Mycroft who didn’t so much as blink at the description of the beatings but you had broken at least one pencil and had to walk off the boiling energy inside you before continuing on.

The man didn’t know a damn thing and had spent the time trying to get under Mycroft’s skin. You had said it would be a lost cause that Moriarty wouldn’t give any more information to any one person than they needed but Mycroft didn’t want to leave any loose ends. When Mycroft called in a man to see if he would talk after the same treatment he had given Sherlock, you had to leave. As much as you wanted to hurt the man, you couldn’t sit there and watch. You left the few notes you had taken and walked out without disturbing their interview turned interrogation.

After grabbing your things from your office, you just wanted to drown out that memory with your boys. You had spent the entire cab ride trying to lock it all away, compartmentalizing what you needed to get on with the day without visions of the beatings that created the scars you knew well on Sherlock’s skin. You turned the key in the lock and with a final breath, you mentally slammed the door and walked into the front entryway.

Mrs. Hudson’s phone rang and you noticed her flat door was open as you made your way up the stairs. A loud smash of glass in the kitchen above made you pick up your pace.

“It’s okay, just hold this. There you go. Careful now.” Sherlock sounded calm and you slowed as you approached the door to the kitchen.

“Woah!” Will’s excitement and wonder was so clear, you could picture the awe on his face and that familiar warmth bubbled up.

“Yes, right there and we’ll just see…”

You peeked around the corner then your face fell. Will was standing on the kitchen chair with a way too large black rubber apron tied around him so that it covered from his neck all the way to the chair where it puddled around his feet. He also had giant black rubber gloves on, safety goggles that practically covered his entire face, and his hair was pulled back and covered with a hat. He held up a mini flamethrower that Sherlock was waving an eyeball over. “What are you two doing?”

Will turned your way and threw up his hands, “Mama!” Sherlock jumped out of the way of the flame then carefully took the fire contraption from his hand.

“Careful. We had a few accidents during the experiment.” Sherlock smiled at you and glanced toward the glass on the floor.

Will grinned with his head held high, “peryment.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Are you barbecuing eyeballs with our son?”

“In science, mama!” Will said with such a serious face you knew he was trying to mimic Sherlock.

“ _In the name_ of science.” Sherlock nodded, smiling at Will.

“What am I going to do with you two?” You chuckled. “I mean at least he’s fully protected but I can’t say the same for you.” Mrs. Hudson’s laughter echoed up the stairs and you wondered briefly if she had overheard your conversation.

Sherlock brought the flame back to the eyeball. “Safety first.”

“At least for him. He could’ve set your hair on fire just now.”

He frowned with a glance at Will. “I’ll admit I did not foresee that reaction.”

“Fire.” Will stared at the flame with wide eyes. You shook your head as you walked into the kitchen and dropped your bag on a chair before grabbing the broom and dustpan to collect the glass off the floor.

“Don’t. I was going to get that.” Sherlock argued but still had the fire and eyeball in his hands.

You looked at him, “your hands are a little full at the moment. It’s fine.”

 **“Sherlock?”** John’s voice carried up the stairs.

“Unca John!” Will shouted and started to turn.

Sherlock yelled at the same time you barked at Will.

"Freeze!”

“Do not get off that chair!”

Will glanced between the two of you and giggled but didn’t move. John stopped in the doorway and Sherlock looked at him. **“What was that noise downstairs?”**

John took in the scene in the kitchen. **"That was Mrs. Hudson laughing.”** He met your gaze and his brow rose.

**“Sounds like she was torturing an owl.”**

**"Yeah, well, it was laughter.”** He glanced at Sherlock before looking back at you.

“Don’t look at me. I just got home.” You brushed all the glass into a pile and checked that Will wasn’t thinking of moving. His gaze was once again drawn to the flame.

**“Could be both.”**

Will held his arms up toward John and he walked over, picked him up, and carried him away from the glass toward the sitting room. Will hugged him then wiggled to get down. “Promise to stay out of the kitchen until the glass is cleaned up?” Will nodded and John put him down then turned back to Sherlock as Will scampered out of the room. **“Busy?”**

You studied John as Sherlock answered him. You recalled the other day Mary complaining about something John had yet to do. “And that’s my cue to leave. Would you mind?” You lifted the broom up and John smiled reaching for it as you walked toward him. “Thank you.” You gave him a wink as you handed the broom and dust pan over. You waved to Sherlock as you walked out of the kitchen and went in search of your little madman. You had to keep Will away for at least fifteen minutes but even you couldn't wait too long to hear how this best man proposal would go down.  
~~

 

You walked through the sitting room guiding Will carefully around the desk that had become wedding central in the last few days. You had been lucky so far that Will hadn’t really disturbed it but now it was only a matter of time since they had the reception seating arrangements to finish with a small model of the room that looked like a doll house for Will. You pulled out the stroller and picked him up.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock turned from the wall plastered with everything they needed for planning the event.

“Are you kidding? You wouldn’t be able to finish any of this with this one here. I need to go into the office and pick up a few things anyway. Then Will and I are going to do some shopping and maybe hit the park.” You glanced at Mary and she nodded. “Have fun!”

Sherlock grabbed the stroller and carried it out the door and downstairs. “You don’t have to go. I’m very good at distracting him.”

You smirked. “Yes, you are but there are a lot of things up there that he wouldn’t be distracted from. Besides, they’re going to con you out of there within thirty minutes.”

“What?”

“Twenty pounds, John asks you to get him out of there within thirty minutes.”

“You couldn’t possibly…” You raised your brows and he narrowed his eyes. “Okay, twenty pounds.” He helped buckle Will into the stroller.

“And when he does, you will play along.”

Sherlock opened the door. “Did Mary say something to you?”

You smiled as you walked out, “I’ll see you later. Have fun on your case.”

~~

It was finally getting down to the finish line as most of the wedding prep was complete and Will’s Tuxedo was the last thing on your to do list before the big day this Saturday. You pushed Will’s stroller down the street with the little tuxedo tucked in a garment bag hanging from the handle. “You are gonna be one handsome little man. Maybe the best looking one there.”

Will continued kicking his feet watching the cars go by, probably not even hearing a word you said but then most times you knew you were talking to yourself. “My cross to bear, I guess.” You chuckled as you turned onto Baker Street and police sirens screeched beside you. Two police cars screamed around the corner at each end of Baker Street and Lestrade’s car was parked haphazardly in front of Speedy’s.

Your heart sunk into your stomach as you pushed the stroller at a run. Will’s hands were up in the air as he giggled then he pointed in the sky and shouted, “plane!”

You looked up and spotted the police helicopter before breaking into a full out sprint to 221B. You pulled Will from the stroller and shot through the open door. “Sherlock!” You rushed up the stairs calling out. “Sherlock!”

You almost bumped into Lestrade as you blew through the flat door. Sherlock was still sitting at his laptop in his house coat staring at Greg in confusion before turning his gaze on you. “What the fuck is going on?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and you glanced at Greg who turned toward you with his jaw clenched. You looked back to Sherlock as Will wiggled down from your arms and rushed over to him. He jumped into his lap and Sherlock caught him as he pointed to the window. “Plane!”

Sherlock turned the chair and stood, carrying Will over to the window. “Yes, Lestrade brought a helicopter.”

“Plane!” Will excitedly pointed.

“Helicopter.” Sherlock corrected.

Will looked at him and smiled, “copter.”

“Good enough.”

“Sherlock, what did you do?” Your heart finally stopped slamming against your ribcage but the adrenaline still swam through your veins.

He turned with his brow furrowed, “I had just asked for help, not all of Scotland Yard. That was him.”

Greg spun around and shoved his fingers into his hair.

“Weren’t you going to get Will’s tux?” Sherlock turned his gaze back to you.

You grabbed Greg’s arm pulling him out of the room and toward the stairs. “I’ll deal with you later.” You called back to Sherlock as you walked Greg to the door.

“I’m going to kill him.” He murmured as you walked down the stairs.

“Yes, this is definitely one of those times. I’m sorry, you weren't…” You studied the look on his face and sighed, “shit. It was something important, wasn’t it?”

“Walters gang.”

“For fuck’s sake.” You stepped out the front door with him and picked up the stroller and garment bag that was flapping in the wind from the helicopter. “Should we come up with something? I could get involved if need be.”

He looked up and sighed, “I might just take you up on that.”

“I’ve got a few cards to play. Do you think you could make it back to your bust in time?”

He scrubbed his hand down his face. “Probably not.”

“I’m so sorry.” You touched his arm.

He flashed a tight grin. “Just part of the territory, I guess.”

“Bullshit. You deserve way more than you get there.”

He chuckled, “I was talking about Holmes.”

“Oh, well.” You glanced up at the window and could make out Will in Sherlock’s arms. “I guess I could say the same. All of the wedding stuff was going so well until he started to panic about the speech. I should’ve known before I left.” You pulled out your phone and sent a text to Mycroft. “I have a favor due that could work out nicely. A bomb threat after the one a few years ago would require a response like this.”

Greg’s brow shot up. “You…”

You grinned, “don’t worry about it. You deserve it.”

Greg glanced up at the window. “That man is the luckiest son of a bitch.”

“Watch it. His mother is a saint.”

He dropped his gaze. “Sorry.” Then laughed, “this is insane.”

“You’re standing in front of 221B. It comes with the territory.”  
~~

The last week had been a mess between the final prep and the last minute problems that cropped up for the wedding and with the unfortunate spectacle outside two days ago, it had been a headache for everyone. Except Sherlock who seemed to handle everything with aplomb as he normally did.

The morning of the wedding, you woke to his violin filling the flat with the music he’d been working on for weeks. You were warming up to the sound of the violin, at least the sound that Sherlock could make with it. After checking on Will, still sound asleep, and brushing your teeth, you shuffled through the kitchen then paused in the doorway to the sitting room and smiled. Sherlock was dancing with his invisible partner around the room. He glanced in your direction and dropped his arms.

“Good morning.” He walked over and took your hand as he slipped his arm around your back. “I need a partner.”

You shook your head, “you know I’m a horrible partner.”

He smirked, “because you have a hard time not leading.” You yelped when he pinched your side then laughed as he spun you out into the middle of the sitting room before pausing and letting you fix your stance.

“It’s too early for this.” You whined but straightened your back, squared your shoulders, and released a breath trying to let go of your instinct to control.

“Nonsense.” He began moving you gracefully around the room.

“Is it finally finished?” You glanced at the music player.

“Yes. I wanted to make sure it was perfect.”

You smiled, “of course it is.” He was gazing into your eyes with the smallest quirk at the corner of his mouth. His pupils dilated and your skin warmed as he pressed you closer.  

“Oh, look at you two.” Mrs. Hudson appeared in the kitchen doorway.

 **“Shut up, Mrs. Hudson.”** Sherlock didn’t break your gaze but his grip loosened on your waist.

You giggled at Sherlock’s hidden smile then gave him a look before smiling at Mrs. Hudson. “Good morning.”

Sherlock watched you for a moment, his eyes whispering of his intent and your hand in his began tingling along with your side where his hand gently held you. It was a moment you’d had before, more than a few times, where you felt there was something both of you weren’t saying but words weren’t needed. He squeezed your hand and released you with a soft smile before walking to his chair.

You headed into the kitchen and placed two waffles into the toaster with a glance at the clock. Will needed to get up soon because you still had a few things to get ready mainly taming that hair of his. You were going over your mental list when you overheard Mrs. Hudson on a bit of a ramble in the sitting room.

**“My best friend Margaret, she was my chief bridesmaid and we were going to be best friends forever, we always said that but I hardly saw her after that.”**

“Oh, Martha that was probably because she knew what your husband was and she was too bloody polite to say anything. Didn’t he sweep you off to Florida not too long after that?” You called as you pulled out orange juice and milk from the fridge and placed them on the table then walked over to the doorway to the sitting room giving Sherlock a smile as his gaze found yours. “Wait, didn’t you say you found out he cheated in Florida? Did you ever ask Margaret if she had slept with him? What if she was crying because she wanted to marry him?”

Sherlock’s brow jumped into his hairline as his gaze flicked back up to yours. Mrs. Hudson gasped as she turned in the chair and you pursed your lips mulling it over for a moment. “If so, good riddance to a rubbish best friend.”

You turned around and walked into the bedroom shaking your head. That was one more jump of logic then you thought.

“Ready to get up, little man?” Will didn’t budge until you picked him up from the crib and moved him to the bed. You chuckled at Sherlock’s outburst in the sitting room and lay down beside Will to wake him up. You ran your fingers over his soft cheeks and played with his hair. “It’s Uncle John’s big day, we need to get you all cleaned up for that nice suit.”

He wiggled his nose and tried to roll over but you blocked him. He whined and squeezed his eyes tighter. You chuckled, “not today, love.”

Sherlock strolled over to his armoire and threw his house coat on the chair. “Why that term of endearment?”

“Love?” You rolled slightly to see him and he nodded. “It’s a common term of endearment.”

“Yes, but you don’t usually deal in common.”

You smirked before rolling back to Will, “touché.” You brushed your finger down his nose and then over his cheeks again. “He is the love of my life. I’ve told you before and not to hurt you, but it was rough for me after your death and things got a little out of hand. Then I found out about him and everything changed. I had something that inspired me again and he made things… easier.” Will opened his eyes and gave you a tired smile. “Morning, love.”

“Mama.” He touched your cheek and you closed your eyes savoring the feel of his small palm and remembering the first time he had done that.

You opened your eyes and smiled, “ready for Uncle John’s big party?”

His eyes lit up, “cake!”

You smiled at his excitement and heard Sherlock’s soft laughter behind you. “Yes, there will be cake.” You sat up and pulled him with you. “How could anyone not love this face?” You directed it at Sherlock who was smiling at the little man in your lap.

“Daddylock!” He reached for Sherlock and a stab of grief ripped into your chest.

Sherlock frowned, “it sounds like he’s mispronouncing… poppycock?”

“Is it like nails on a chalkboard?” You asked while reading the tiny flash of sadness before he shook his head and smiled.

“It works.” Sherlock helped him off the bed and placed him on the floor in front of him. “Ready to learn how to dress for battle?” Will stood up straight and nodded, his curls flopping over his face. “And I’ll show you how to tame that.”

The two of them perked you up. “We’ll probably have to give him a bath to be able to get anywhere with that hair.”

Sherlock smiled with just a hint of superiority to it. “He took a bath last night. I know how to tame the hair.”

You held up your hands, “okay. I’ll grab a shower then and come help.”

“Tell mama we have everything under control.”

“Trol.” He parroted trying to mimic Sherlock’s face.

You laughed and walked out of the room. “We’ll see.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lines borrowed from The sign of three in BOLD

Will sat on your lap finger painting the dessert plate with the sauce he didn't eat. His actual coloring book and crayons beside the plate forgotten. You were seated in between Greg and Mrs. Hudson talking quietly with a slight knot in your stomach. You had never been more thankful for Greg Lestrade than you had been today. You fit in more with him by your side because people expected to see a man beside a woman with a child and had you been alone, there would have been a lot more speculation and questions.

Of course, the twinge in your stomach had nothing to do with how people could look at your son but the nerves you could see in Sherlock’s stiff movements and tense smiles. You caught his glances a few times as the time for his speech drew closer and you gave him an encouraging smile but it didn't seem to soften the pinch in his brow.

A glass clinked and a man stood announcing the best man. Sherlock stood fluidly and buttoned his suit jacket. He started off fine but then the silence was deafening as he faltered, losing his place. Your stomach clenched again as you tried to catch his gaze.

“Dadylock!” Will clapped and you turned him in your lap shushing him quietly.

Greg chuckled, “no poppycock.”

A few rolls of laughter broke out around your table and Sherlock finally met your gaze. His small smirk did nothing to hide his nerves and you took an exaggerated breath then watched him do the same before John whispered something. He smiled and picked up the cards on the table and continued on.

Greg met your eye and winked. You lipped thank you before you both focused back on Sherlock. His speech was going well until he finished the stag night story and continued on with the ghost date case.

“Oh god, not the mayfly man. I told him that was a bad idea.” You tilted your head down and watched Will color the tablecloth instead of his book.

“What's the mayfly man?” Greg leaned over and asked as you silently corrected Will, pulling his hand over his coloring book and shaking your head when he glanced up.

“I have a feeling I know where this story is going and we’re at a wedding where it would be… offensive.”

He rolled his eyes, “what else is new.”

You pinched your lips as you glanced at him but he was already listening intently to the story. You kept your head down as Sherlock spun the tale. You winced when he got to the part you were dreading.

**“Then John so wisely stated, ‘he’s married.’”**

You groaned and Greg let out a low whistle as Sherlock unloaded his most offensive string of sentences yet. “Oh, that’s what you were talking about.”

You could practically feel the people getting annoyed but then Sherlock surprised you. “But then my extremely perceptive flatmate suggested that I was merely looking at it from my biased opinion towards marriage instead of considering the fact that not all men or women play the field for promiscuity alone but for power, and what power could someone possibly find by romancing strangers?” He smiled as his gaze swept around the room, stopping on you for a brief moment before announcing with relish, “secrets. You'd be surprised how easy it is for people to give away secrets to a stranger.”

You tucked your head down behind Will and groaned. “Oh god. ”

Greg leaned down, “what? That's actually pretty accurate.”

But you could feel the room was tense and a few coughs broke the silence as Sherlock finally pumped the breaks. **“On second thought, I probably should've told you about the elephant in the room. However,”**

You sighed as he got back on track with the speech you read over about a dozen times before this morning. You straightened up in your chair finally taking a full breath as he reached the final part of his speech. You wrapped your arms around Will and turned him in your lap to hold you as you stood with the room raising glasses.

Greg glanced at you and smirked, “check that off the list.”

You chuckled but then Sherlock paused and your gaze was drawn to him. His face was blank and you grabbed Greg's wrist. “Something’s wrong.”

“What? Are you sure?” Greg looked at Sherlock, “is this a mind palace thing?”

Sherlock’s grip on his glass slackened and everything slowed as the glass slipped from his fingers. Your mind was racing, trying to figure out what revelation just came to him and how the hell you could stop him from running off. _Look at me Sherlock, look at me. What the hell is going on in your head?_

Your heart stopped when he looked at Will and you caught the split second flicker of fear. He finally caught your gaze as he told everyone to sit back down. Your grip tightened on Greg's wrist and he hissed. You whispered, “I need to get Will out of here.”

Greg glanced at Sherlock before pulling out your chair and touching your lower back to move past him. Sherlock began rambling and all you could think was he was giving you time to leave but being the only one standing would draw attention. You needed to move fast. You held Will tighter as you crossed the room and then a bang at the head table made you glance his way. He vaulted the table and began walking.

Greg opened the side door for you and with a final glance at John, his confusion and worry clear, and then Sherlock who was walking down the middle aisle his gaze sweeping and clearly deducing as fast as he could, you left the room.

Greg shut the door then caught up with you, “where are you going to go?”

“Just up to the room. I’ll give him an hour to figure it out. If he thinks someone's here… It could be something else but I saw the fear when he looked at Will. Something’s going on but he's still figuring it out.” You halted, “wait, you need to go back. He’ll need you.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. Sherlock needs you more. Go.” You waited until he turned and walked back to the room before moving again, forcing your pace to appear calm, collected, and normal.

“Mama, I want cake!”

“We’ll still get cake, love. I just need to check on something for Uncle John. I bet if we do this for him, he’ll give us extra cake!”

Will clapped but the excitement didn't completely reach his eyes as he watched you. You knew that most children were more perceptive than most people thought but it was times like this where Will tipped the scales into the unusually perceptive. “Daddy?”

You were quiet for a moment, his clear daddy giving you pause. “He is solving a puzzle and we have to help him by going to the room so mama can make some calls. Okay? We won't be long, I promise. It was getting pretty boring in there with all the adult stuff anyway.”

That seemed to satisfy him for the moment but he kept glancing back instead of playing with your necklace or looking for something interesting around. This was not the time for him to start getting suspicious and act out.

You finally got inside the room and grabbed the tv remote, switching it on as you sat Will on the bed beside you. You flicked through the channels until a cartoon popped up. “Mama’s just going to call a friend from work, okay?”

“Okay.” He sat forward with his chin in his hands.

You pulled your cell out of the pocket in your dress and sent a text code to Mycroft for a secure line. Dropping the phone on the bed, you unzipped the overnight bag and dug down to the bottom pulling out the small black case and taking it back with you to the bed. You pressed your thumb to the small pad on the top and waited for the locks to pop. Then you opened it and lifted the gun, checked the chamber and the safety before slipping it under the pillow and sitting in front of it. You picked up the phone and tapped the screen as you waited for it to ring silently cursing Mycroft for not answering immediately. A minute ticked by and then another before the screen lit up with the caller unknown.

You answered and pressed the phone to your ear. “Has the package gotten any bites lately?”

“Of course not. I would've been notified immediately. Shouldn't you be cutting the cake by now?”

“Something’s going on. Sherlock just went off during his speech, mind palace break and all. He looked at Will and there was a flash of fear so I got Will out.” You heard Mycroft’s derisive chuckle. “I'm not joking. Do you think I made a mistake?”

“I think you may have misread my brother, that's all.”

“Have I ever misread anyone?”

“He’s a Holmes.”

“Never hampered me before.”

“Fine. I’ll look into it but that could kick up dust.”

You looked down at Will and caught him watching you apprehensively. “Daddy, okay?”

It took all your focus not to react to his face or words even though it was a straight sucker punch to your chest. “Daddy’s fine, love.

“You really saw fear?”

“Come off it, Mycroft. He’s human.”

“I never said he wasn't. Are you sure you want me stirring?”

“I’ll give Sherlock some time to figure it out. I’ll text a go code if we have to go ahead.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

You stabbed the end call button pissed at his attitude even though you knew it was just how he was. You had seen certain moments that surprised you but most times he tried to be the stoic robot. Your phone chirped, you glanced at the screen and let out a breath.

_Sholto target. Narrowing down Mayfly man. -SH_

“Okay, mama?”

You hugged him to your chest and kissed the top of his head. “Mama’s okay. Everyone’s okay.”

Scooting back to the headboard, you settled in and turned Will around so he could see the tv. You sat quietly with his head resting against your chest as he watched cartoons. Absentmindedly brushing your fingers through his curls, you stared into space. It was the first time you had ever truly feared for your son’s life and it had shaken you.

Noise at the door pulled you from your thoughts and you shoved your hand under the pillow behind your back. The keylock beeped and the door opened, you pulled the gun out and pointed it at the door, your nerve endings tingling as you prepared to fire. Your finger released the trigger when you met crystal blue eyes. Sherlock stopped feet from the bed staring not at the gun, but you.

“Daddy!” Will scrambled from the bed and you tucked the gun back under the pillow before he could see it. Sherlock’s gaze never broke from yours until Will reached the end of the bed and jumped. He caught him with ease and lifted him up before walking over to you.

“Look, daddy!” Will pulled on Sherlock’s chin. “Get cake?”

“There will be cake. Lots of cake.” Sherlock smiled and you stood from the bed.

“Mama, let's go!”

You looked up into Sherlock’s eyes and he licked his lips. His voice was so low, you almost didn't hear it. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry too.”

“Why?”

You hugged him, pressing your face into his chest feeling like Will but not caring. In the back of your mind, you knew Sherlock might be uncomfortable but you couldn't stop yourself. You breathed him in and his free arm wrapped around your back and squeezed before his lips pressed against the top of your head. Mere seconds after the pressure from his mouth lifted, Will mimicked him.

“Mama’s all better,” Will whispered.

You cleared your throat and pulled away. “Thank you.” You glanced up at Sherlock before smiling at Will. “All better.”

Sherlock walked with you back to the reception hall where the cake was finally being cut. Lestrade met you at the door and they had a conversation about the photographer that perplexed you until Sherlock asked him to bring the photographer to the lounge area after he saw you to the table. Sherlock handed Will over and smiled before walking away.  

“Never a dull moment,” Greg smirked as he opened the door.

You laughed, probably a little louder than you should have but the relief was heady. “It's basically a given with any event featuring those two.”

The room had been transformed into a dance floor with tables along the edges of the room and Greg walked you to a tall table near the back where Molly and Tom were whispering with Mrs. Hudson. You couldn't help but notice the extra space between Molly and Tom and wondered what happened while you were gone. “Sorry, business call.”

“You missed the best part.” Tom leaned on his elbows with wide eyes.

Greg flashed a tight-lipped smile. “I've got someone to fetch.”

You nodded your thanks and turned back to the table. “What happened?” You glanced between the three of them and Will clapped.

“Cake!”

You chuckled, “I promised cake.”

Mrs. Hudson held out her hands for Will, “how bout nana gets us some cake while mama talks with the other grown ups?”

Will looked at you and you nodded, “would you like to go with nana?”

He grinned and climbed into Mrs. Hudson’s arms. You watched them walk over to the cake table from the corner of your eye while Tom excitedly rambled on about the highlight of the day as Molly tsked him on certain words and corrected him throughout.

Will got his fill of cake and started to fight his eyelids before they announced the first dance. You scooped him up as everyone moved around for a good spot by the dance floor. You hung back by the tables and waited until everyone was in place then found a nice spot in the back where you could see Sherlock playing on the stage at the front and glimpses of John and Mary as they moved around the dance floor.

You never understood the tradition of the first dance. All the guests standing around staring as the good woman was presented and spun. It always reminded you of the old traditions of dowers, dowries, and bridewealth but you knew it was probably more your dislike of the spotlight that caused your disdain. John and Mary moved around in a practiced and a bit stiff dance, and yet the look on their faces made you smile despite the awkwardness of it all. They looked happy and of all cliches, they looked like two people in love.

You were never much of a violin lover, preferring the low, deep sounds of the cello but something about the way Sherlock coaxed the flighty, mellow tones from such a delicate instrument intoxicated you. Your gaze kept getting drawn back to him and each sweep of the bow flowed through you, pushing and pulling in an ebb and flow that teased of something familiar and yet you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

His eyes slid from the dance floor and found yours. You smiled expecting his gaze to move back to John and Mary or his violin but they stayed. For a moment, you thought he wasn't looking at you but simply toward the back of the room unseeing until the corner of his mouth quirked up. His gaze stayed with you as he moved into the final few bars with his flourish at the end. You heard Mary chuckle but you couldn't break Sherlock’s gaze.

Applause broke out and the bridesmaid Sherlock had been escorting during the wedding, Jeanine, you were fairly sure, whooped and hollered. He broke the stare as he took the violin off his shoulder and glanced at Jeanine. His nervous smile as he tossed his white flower to her made you shake your head. You hummed quietly as Will began to stir on your shoulder and swayed again but then Sherlock’s voice filled the room as he apologized for the craziness earlier and Will slipped back into silent dead weight.

The tone of Sherlock’s voice changed just slightly. **“Mary and John: whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you.”**

At first, you thought he had lumped you in there but then he squeezed his eyes shut and his mouth tightened into a thin line. If that wasn't enough of a blaring siren he started to ramble corrections and then redirected by calling for the music to start. He even started to conduct the audience to get them to dance. You covered your mouth to muffle the bark of laughter when it hit you; Mary was pregnant.

Sherlock moved through the crowding dance floor to John and Mary and you could imagine their reactions based on his. There were a few awkward moments there but then his smile reached all the way up to his eyes and his gaze found yours for a second. He said something as his focus went back to Mary and John. Then the happy couple slipped away together into the mob of dancers as Sherlock watched them with a smile.

He looked a little lost for a moment as he glanced around taking in the crowd around him. He flashed a smile at someone before his gaze trailed back to yours and a soft grin bloomed. He held up his pointer finger and went back up to the stage, folded his sheet music, slipped it into an envelope, then made his way through the crowd never losing sight of you.

He stopped in front of you with that grin still in place. “Did you want to stay? I’ll take him for a while.”

You shook your head, “no. I was planning on heading up to the room by now but I think I might go home. After today, I'd rather be in my own bed.”

“Let’s get you home then, shall we?” His hand slipped around to the small of your back and he guided you out of the room.

You walked in a comfortable silence up to the room then Sherlock took Will so you could gather up the few things that had been pulled from your bag. You called down to the front desk for a cab before searching the room for anything you missed. Then picked up Sherlock’s coat holding it up so he could thread each arm through one by one without jostling Will. You slipped on Will’s coat before pulling on your own, grabbing the bag, and leading the way out of the room.

It wasn't until you walked out the front door of the venue that you slipped your arm around Sherlock. You glanced up to check if he was okay with the contact and he gave you a subtle nod. You waited like that about five minutes before the cab pulled up and you climbed in.

You sat looking out the window feeling drained but glad to be heading home when his hand found yours and laced your fingers together. You looked up at him in question and he lifted your hand to his lips pressing a soft kiss to the back of it before placing them down on his leg. You grinned, that feeling from his violin piece for John and Mary’s first dance cropped back up.

He read something on your face and his brows scrunched together, “what?”

You shook your head, “nothing. Just thought of something from earlier.”

“What?” His curiosity was baited and you wouldn't be able to back out without further enticing him.

“The song for John and Mary.”

“Oh.” That answer obviously confused him further but he didn't say anything. The rest of the way home passed in comfortable silence.

When you got back to the flat, you carefully got Will undressed, into pajamas, and then laid him in his crib. You stood and watched him sleep for a few minutes trying to forget about the incident earlier. While it had always been a fear in the back of your mind, it didn't really seem rational for most of the last year and a half. Even after Sherlock came back, it was still just this idea on the periphery, but today it felt real.

Sherlock padded over to you and massaged your shoulders. “Weren’t you tired?”

You closed your eyes and stepped back into him. “I’ll be the first to admit that your loss hit me harder than I expected. I couldn’t quite figure out if it was because I told you not to fear Moriarty or if I had somehow made you underestimate him. Figures, right? Grief always makes it personal. I doubted myself and I found one of your stashes in the flat. I carried it with me, kept it in my pocket and every time it all just became too overwhelming, I would clutch it in my hand as a reminder that I could make it all go away. But I knew it wouldn’t last and a reprieve isn’t always the best thing because when you come back from the nothing of being numb, everything feels so much heavier, the situation always seems so much worse.”

You inhaled sharply and shook your head trying to chase away the emotions. “Mycroft threatened to fire me after he found it.” You blinked away the tears and chuckled, “he threatened a lot actually. He was the one who told me, you know. That I was caring for two and if I wanted to ruin my life it wouldn’t be at the expense of his.” Sherlock’s hands slipped over your ribcage just under your chest and he pressed you tighter against him then kissed the top of your head. “He became everything. I told Mycroft to keep it and I made an appointment with a doctor and everything changed. My world became someone else. I’m sure it’s said all the time but it was real for me. It still is.” You took a shaky breath in and swiped your cheeks.

He tucked his head into the crook of your neck and whispered, “come to bed with me.”

You nodded. He stepped back, pulled the zipper down on the back of your dress, and slipped it off your shoulders letting it fall to the floor at your feet. You stepped out of it and he picked it up then folded it over the back of the chair by his armoire. You undid your bra and slipped it off while he picked up a tank top off the bed he must've grabbed when he changed into a tee shirt and boxer briefs.

He slipped the tank top on and you both climbed into bed. His arm wrapped around your middle and pulled you against him without a word. You remembered he liked the feel of your body against his and that he had drawn comfort from it before. You briefly wondered if he was the one seeking comfort or if he was trying to give it back to you. You didn't care either way. “I can’t lose him, Sherlock. I just don’t think that is within the realm of things I could handle.”

“Then we’ll make sure you never have to find out.”

Will was safe, Sherlock was safe, and you were safe. Everything was as it should be. You said it over and over like a mantra. So, why did that tiny idea that used to hang out on the periphery seem to be perched front and center waiting for the chance to explode?

His hand was resting against your stomach and his fingers began softly dancing in small circles. “I'm going to figure it out. It’ll take time but I’ll solve it. I found a lead tonight that I'm going to work on.”

You brushed your fingers down his arm until you stopped on his hand then entwined your fingers. There was something comforting and yet disconcerting that he felt the threat too. “I trust you.”

He was quiet for a moment then whispered, “that scares me.”

You turned enough to see his face, “why?”

“Because there's never been anyone to really let down before.”

You rolled over and touched his cheek. “There still isn't. Don't you remember?” His brow ever so slightly came together. “There's nothing you could do that could ever change my mind on you, Sherlock Holmes.” You brushed your thumb over his cheekbone and he closed his eyes.

“I will never understand you.”

“That's a good thing.” You moved up and kissed him. “A very good thing.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lines borrowed from His last vow in BOLD

It had been a long night and Will was still having trouble sleeping. You prayed that he didn't have the flu as you danced him around the sitting room singing softly to calm him. He started to fall asleep then the coughing started again and he clung to you as the whimpering began.

You swayed as you walked into the bathroom, turned on the hot water in the shower, and closed the door. The spray of the water against the tub made your eyes feel even heavier as you sat on the toilet and waited for the steam to fill the room. You picked up the song as Will whimpered again.

Your head started to nod as the warm steam enveloped you and Will’s breathing eased. Will’s weight lightened and you jerked awake clutching him to your chest. You met Sherlock’s gaze and he whispered, “it's okay. I've got him.”

You shook your head but your eyelids kept getting heavier, “no. You haven't slept in over twenty-four hours working that case. Besides this isn't as bad as the flu he got last year.”

He touched your chin and you forced your eyes open. “I just slept for seven hours. I'm in much better condition than you are.”

You glanced down at his wrinkled shirt that he had passed out in. “I’m fine.” He chuckled and you looked up at him. “What's so funny?”

“Do you give Mycroft this much trouble?”

You grimaced. “Mycroft’s my boss, you're not. Shouldn't you be off working your lead?”

He smirked as he leaned down and slipped his arms around Will, lifting him easily now that you had released your hold. “Did you give John this much trouble when he wanted to help you?”

“I…” You looked away.

“It's okay to accept help.”

You frowned, “I know that.”  His grin looked good on him and bothered the shit out of you in that moment.

“Then go get some sleep. I've got him.”

You shuffled to the door and turned, “he likes music…”

He interrupted you, “go to bed.”

Your mouth dropped open for a second before you snapped it shut. “Alright.” You opened the door and stepped out but looked back instead of closing it. Sherlock was already swaying him, the steam clinging to his face and the longer curls were starting to stick to his forehead. “Sherlock.” He turned into his sway and you could see the argument he was ready with but you smirked. “Thank you.”

His eyes sparkled but it might have been the steam or just your sleep deprived brain. “Oh, and I texted Mycroft that you wouldn't be in this morning. No more stalling, go to bed.”

Your eyes widened but you were too tired to argue. A smile brightened his whole countenance and you froze for just a moment trying to memorize every detail of his face and Will’s in peaceful slumber. A question slowly began to form on his face and you smiled then closed the door and shuffled to the bedroom.

The sun was just starting to peek through the windows, another reminder of just how long last night had been. You made a mental note to thank Sherlock for intervening as you pulled the curtains closed. Then you fell like a rock onto the mattress and passed out not much differently than Sherlock had last night.

~~

 

You were just finishing gathering up all of Will’s things in the sitting room when there was a knock on the door to the flat. You opened it with a chill creeping down your back and let out a breath of relief when you saw Mycroft. You stepped back and picked up the box of things you were about to place in your room.

“Did you know?” Mycroft strode in with Anderson and two more behind him.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Should you really be swearing around him?” You stared at Mycroft waiting for an answer. “John called, he found my little brother in a junkie den, he tested positive just ten minutes ago. Are you encouraging this?”

You carried the box into the kitchen recalling the conversation with Sherlock about his plan for Magnussen from two weeks ago.

 

_You were sitting in bed with your back against the headboard when Sherlock walked into the bedroom glancing at the crib as he passed then made his way to the armoire. He met your gaze when you looked up from your book. “Even if today had nothing to do with him, I need to throw him off.”_

_You sighed knowing exactly what he was talking about and confirming that he too thought it could be connected to Magnussen. “Like what?”_

_“I need to be seen as a drug addict.”_

_You closed your book and placed it in your lap. “Sherlock. You are a recovering drug addict.”_

_“This man lives on secrets and if he finds out about you and Will.”_

_You could hear his argument in your head but you pressed on anyway. “Why does it have to be drugs?”_

_“It's the easiest. It's already in my past. I know the precise solution to take that it won't affect me too much.”_

_Your gaze flitted over to the crib, “he can't see you like that. And if he is so powerful what if today was just…” You didn’t want to say it out loud._

_“You've always been too smart. There are two rooms here and with John gone... I've spoken with Mrs. Hudson, if anyone asks or pokes around, she knows exactly what to do.” But you saw it before he turned away, he didn’t completely believe it either._

_You thought of the man who sat in front of the council and acted bored like it was a waste of his time and yet those dead eyes had chilled you. “Are you at least going to tell John?”_

_“He’s been busy.” He mumbled into his shirt as he pulled it over his head._

_“No, he’s not. It’s only been two weeks, stop being a baby.” He pulled back with a look that made you laugh, “fine. But seriously, be careful. You know how to act the part, you don't actually have to take anything.” He walked toward you and you kept his gaze. “Just because you’re not sleeping in our room anymore doesn’t mean we’re not still here. You're not alone.”_

_He leaned down and brushed his fingers down your jawline, “I know. I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you safe.”_

_You closed your eyes leaning into the palm he pressed to your cheek. “I'm perfectly capable of keeping us safe.”_

_“Anyone who's different isn't safe with men like him.”_

_You gazed up into his eyes, “I know. I trust you.”_

_That instant flash of surprise. You could never understand how he didn't believe it. “You're not alone either.”_

_“You probably should take some more clothes with you into your new room. You know she’ll either be asking to come over or expecting it. You've had what… three dates? Even with people who wait, that’s usually the lucky number.”_

_“Don’t worry. I’ve got it under control.” He smirked._

_You rolled your eyes, “of course you do.”_

_He climbed over you into the bed and lay down, “but tonight, I’d like to sleep in my real bed.”_

_“Don’t you need to focus?”_

_“I need a night off.”_

_You chuckled, “you’re a mess.”_

_“Never.”_

_“Sherlock Holmes, you are the most…”_

_He caught your lips with his, effectively cutting you off. He grinned as he pulled back, “devilishly handsome and remarkable lover you’ve ever known.” He picked up your book and tossed it onto the nightstand then pulled you down to lay beside him._

_“Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock?”_

_He quirked a brow, “a genius never stops learning.” His hand slipped deftly under your shirt, “how would you phrase that, doctor? Evolving? Adapting?”_

_“Teasing?”_

_He leaned over you as he tantalized your skin. “Never.”_

_“You're like an excitable puppy when you're on an interesting case that's going well. You know that, right?”_

You placed the box down on the kitchen table forcing yourself from the memory and turned to find Mycroft right behind you. “Jesus, Mycroft.” You brushed some hair behind your ear and turned slightly to hide your face. “Your little brother is a grown man! And if he was in a junkie den, you know he's on a case. He would never…” You glanced down at Will who was staring at Mycroft’s umbrella like it was the greatest toy he’d ever seen.

Mycroft leaned forward and lowered his voice, “did that attack in the alley two weeks ago have anything to do with his relapse? Or was it because of it?”

You narrowed your eyes, “attempted attack and no, they weren't drug dealers. I didn't know you were so worried about me but thank you.”

“Please, I've seen you take down three men while you were unarmed. Sherlock, on the other hand, has no idea of…”

You rolled your eyes, “Sherlock came just in time to see me kick their ass. So no, I would say that didn't drive him into a junkie den, I think it made him worry less.”

“Well then, these volunteers will search around and give me anything they find keeping it all off the record.”

“Nothing's here to find!” You turned your head and pointed at Anderson, “and you better not make a mess or I will hurt you.” His brows shot up and the woman beside him chuckled.

Mycroft smiled, “easy enough standards.”

You leaned close to Mycroft and whispered, “you know he would never endanger Will like that.” He watched you but didn't budge.

You pulled Will’s blocks out of the box and placed them next to Sherlock’s chair before calling Will over and taking a seat with an eye on Anderson and his colleague. Mycroft’s phone chirped and he headed downstairs.

Two minutes later, you heard the door and after a few moments of quiet conversation, you heard Sherlock interject and then Andersen called down. Sherlock shouted before stomping up the stairs. You didn’t take your eyes off Anderson even when you heard the three men enter the flat. Sherlock smirked when he saw you watching Anderson like a hawk. He sauntered over to the couch and threw himself down as Mycroft continued to lecture.

John squatted down by Will and moved him closer to you then noticed the space where his chair had been. **“What happened to my chair?”**

“It was blocking y/n’s view to Anderson.”

You glanced down at Will as they continued arguing. He was looking at Sherlock with his head cocked to the side.

**“Your bedroom door is shut. You haven't been home all night. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?”**

You looked up and Mycroft was striding toward your door.  “Because that's my room. Sherlock is in John's old room upstairs.”

Mycroft turned and his brows jumped up as he looked at you. His gaze shifted to Anderson before settling back on his brother. “Upstairs then.”

**“Okay. Stop! Just…”**

Will stood up in front of the couch and leaned in toward Sherlock. “Okay?”

You jumped up from the chair and could see Sherlock’s large eyes staring at his son. “Da…” you coughed covering the slip. “Sherlock is sick. Why don't you run into the bedroom and get mama’s tablet?”

Will glanced over his shoulder at you then leaned over Sherlock and kissed his forehead. “Make you better.” He smiled and Sherlock glanced at you swallowing nervously. Will turned and pouted, “Mama, give him kisses to make him feel better.”

“I will while you go into the bedroom, okay? The adults just need to finish cleaning up.”

“Okay.” Will turned and hugged John before running through the kitchen and into the bedroom.

Mycroft watched him run by then strolled toward Sherlock. **“I’ll have to phone our parents, of course.** With such an impressionable child around, what will mother say?” He was keeping his voice level, unconcerned even, but his face told a different story, one of barely concealed fury.

Sherlock got off the couch with a glance your way before walking toward Mycroft. **“This is not what you think, this is for a case.”**

**“What case could possibly justify this?”**

**“Magnussen.”** Mycroft’s smirk fell and Sherlock pushed on. **“Charles Augustus Magnussen.”**

Mycroft pivoted toward you, “did you know about this?”

You looked at him as you crossed your arms over your chest, “about what? I thought I was just a den mother swearing and pushing my wards into drugs.”

Sherlock snorted and you heard the bedroom door close. You moved around Mycroft as he turned and began to threaten Anderson and his colleagues before kicking them out.

You had Will seated at the clean side of the kitchen table and were grabbing the headphones from your bag on the counter when Anderson closed the door. “Cuttle.” Will parroted and stabbed his finger toward the door. Mycroft actually smiled at him as you placed the headphones over Will’s ears then Mycroft turned back to Sherlock and John.

You shared a glance with John as Sherlock and Mycroft squared off. It seemed like it might end without any fireworks until Mycroft stopped before going out the door. He just had to get the last word out and Sherlock snapped, grabbing his hand and twisting it as he slammed him into the doorframe.

“Sherlock!” You hissed then heard the tablet hit the table. You glanced down and Will was watching, pulling off his headphones. You picked Will up, “Sherlock and Mycroft are being ridiculous. You don't need to see this.”

“Ridicus!” Will scolded with his finger pointed at Mycroft as you left the room. You caught Sherlock’s smirk and rolled your eyes. You sat Will on the couch in the sitting room and heard John taming the situation.

Sherlock stalked into the living room and eyed you, “do you ever lose that infamous control?” His voice was still harsh but when you looked up from the couch you saw the conflict on his face.

He was fighting something and you really wanted to know what it was but he probably wouldn't say. “What?”

“I’ve never seen you get truly angry.”

You watched him for a moment hoping to read something other than the manic frustration. You tapped your temple, “I've learned to control it but you weren't around when I was pregnant. It didn't work so well then.” His brow furrowed and you shook your head with a rueful smile.

John stepped into the room, “we don't need to go into that.”

Sherlock stared at you, his eyes large and part of it was because he was coming down but something else flickered there. He was asking for something, maybe begging for it,  you just didn't know what it was. So you answered the one question you did know. “Remember when I told you Lestrade helped me out and I confided in him before Will came?” He nodded, “I went to speak with him and Donovan was going on about something. I heard her call you a freak.” His brows rose and you dropped your gaze, “I convinced her not to say that anymore.”

John scoffed, “you knocked her on her ass and broke her nose.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he looked from John to you. You shrugged, “Greg worked it out so that I didn't get arrested for assaulting an officer.”

“But Mycroft could've easily gotten…”

You looked directly into Sherlock’s eyes. “He didn't need to because Greg did it for me. I told you he’s a good man. I like him.”

Sherlock turned to the window as his face twisted and he worked his mouth.

John glanced between the two of you and then stopped on Sherlock. **“Uh, Magnussen?”**

**“What time is it?”**

**“Bout eight.”**

**“I'm meeting him in three hours.”** He turned without a look your way and left the room. He announced he was taking a bath and said just enough to entice John onto the case then commanded him away from his room. You rolled your eyes. If he really didn’t want John to look he wouldn’t have said anything.

John turned to you. “If I didn't know any better, I’d say he was jealous.”

You gave him a tight smile and turned back to Will. John left the room as you knelt down and picked up Will’s blocks. You were still trying to puzzle out what could be going through Sherlock’s head when you heard Jeanine’s voice in the kitchen. You stalled, moving slower picking up the blocks and looking over Will’s shoulder as he played a game on your tablet. You had all the blocks in your arms by the time you heard the bathroom door open and stood up.

John strode into the sitting room as you headed for the kitchen, “you approve of this?”

“Why does everyone think I'm Sherlock's mother all of a sudden?” John turned and followed you into the kitchen.

“What?”

“He's a grown man.” You dropped the blocks into the box and then carried it to your bedroom.

John glanced back to make sure Will wasn’t following you but still kept his voice down as you passed the bathroom, “I thought you had a... you were sleeping together… I… how can you be okay with this?”

You tucked the box under the bed and grabbed your coat, Will’s coat, and the packed bag off the bed. You gave John a look before walking back into the kitchen then speaking again. “A sociopath can be an excellent actor when they want to be and if they really wanted, they could take on the characteristics of your perfect girlfriend or boyfriend and play it to a tee if they so choose.”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

You rolled your eyes, “love and sex are not mutually linked for everyone. Some people don't even believe in love.”

John's brow furrowed, “are you deliberately trying to confuse me? Wait, is he really having sex with her? Here?”

You sighed, “as far as I can tell? No. He’s playing up the nervous virgin thing, but you've seen him do this before, just maybe not this type of situation.” You sighed at his look of annoyance. “You've seen him show people exactly what they want to see even though that's not how he truly is.” His gaze moved away and he seemed to think about it. “Just wait and you'll understand.”

You walked back into the sitting room and Will was sitting in Sherlock’s chair with a book and a crayon. You placed the bag down by the chair and draped the coats on the desk chair. “Don’t color in your books.”

He giggled, “stache.” He turned the book and showed off the mustache he drew on the man. You couldn’t help but smile as you lifted him up and carried him into the kitchen.

John pulled out his booster seat and placed it on a chair still throwing glances toward the bathroom. You grabbed the waffles from the toaster that had been forgotten when Mycroft’s misguided drug sweep came to the door and turned to throw them in the garbage knocking over a glass on the counter. The contents splashed against your shirt and pants. “Damnit, Anderson.”

John rushed over and grabbed Will. “Go on. I’ve got him.”

“Thank you.” You hustled to your room and closed the door behind you. Thankfully, it was quiet in the bathroom as you passed. You pulled off the wet clothes and prayed it was only water as you grabbed a fresh shirt and jeans. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself that you would be out of town in less than an hour. You checked the clock and saw how much time Mycroft’s little sweep had taken. You heard giggling in the hall and rolled your eyes.

You had seen enough to know that Jeanine wasn’t completely honest either so you hadn’t given Sherlock too much grief but the way that woman spoke sometimes grated on your nerves.

You opened the door and noticed the bathroom door was sitting open. You strode out into the kitchen and John was handing a cup to Will. “Would you mind keeping an eye on him while I run down and pack the bag and stroller in my car?”

“Sure.” He smiled and glanced toward the hallway.

You hustled out of the kitchen, grabbed the bag, and then headed out. You didn't want to see another one of their goodbyes. It wasn't so much the way she talked to Sherlock as it was the act that he put on. The first time you saw it, you gagged. It was easy to separate the man you knew from the actor but it was still difficult to watch. If this case hadn't been so important you probably would've stayed away from the flat altogether but you knew what that would look like to anyone who could be watching. You wouldn't give Magnussen that easy of a read and part of you didn't want to leave Sherlock, to let him know you meant what you said because you did. You understood what he was doing and it didn't change anything, but that didn't mean it made it easier to see.

After the bag and stroller were tucked away in the trunk, you wasted a few minutes checking the tires and then headed back up. You glanced at your phone checking the time before looking up and down the street. You had a feeling Magnussen would somehow surprise Sherlock and you didn't want to be here if the surprise was showing up at the flat before their scheduled meeting at Magnussen’s office. You knew too much about the way the man worked and you didn't like it at all.

You walked up the stairs and turned through the door into the kitchen. Will was still seated at the table with a quarter of a waffle on the plate in front of him while he played on your tablet with his headphones on. You frowned but then heard her voice and realized what John had done. John looked at you when you walked in and flashed a thankful smile as you threw a look at Will. John turned back toward Sherlock’s chair and you caught his concealed anger. You sighed as you walked over to Will knowing that John’s overprotective side must’ve come out while you were downstairs. “Hey, love. Almost ready to go?”

“ **It was brilliant to see ya.** Oh, hi, y/n. Brilliant to see you too.” She waved as she walked to the front door.

“You too.” You forced a smile and looked back to Will.

John turned to you as Sherlock followed her to the door. John leaned in and whispered, “that was not Sherlock.”

You shook your head sharing his low tone. “No, it wasn't.”

“So all that actor, chameleon stuff…”

“Yup.”

“This is for a case.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Don't say I helped you. And don't say a word to her.”

“Does she not even see that Sherlock cares for you and Will?”

“She sees the kind man sharing a flat with a single mother and finds it endearing. She sees what she wants to see because Sherlock knows exactly what that is.”

“But you know he doesn't mean it.”

“Was that the man you know?”

“No.”

“Because Sherlock is himself around you. He's shown you who he really is and you are one of the few he does that with. You know the man, not just the parts he plays.” It was a reminder for yourself as much as an answer for John.

He glanced back at the doorway and made a face. You were sure he was hearing the same kissing noises you were. “And you're okay with this?”

You sighed, “John. Are you okay with Mary going to work?”

“What does that…”

“You can't look at things the same for Sherlock as they are for you. You know you two are different. He and I are not like you and Mary. Sherlock and I will never have a relationship like the two of you because we’re different.”

“You're not different.” You raised your brow and he backtracked, “okay. Okay.”

“At least he does it for cases, to help people. It can be used for much... lesser purposes. But I can't stress enough how important this case is.” You glanced at Will, “I will do everything in my power to finish this one.”

John nodded. “So, this man…”

“I've been outside of a room with him in an interview. He is a man biologically but,” you paused looking at the clock. “He's the most terrifying thing Sherlock has ever taken on and when you do get the opportunity to be in a room with him? Don’t give him an inch. He’ll want to make you squirm, he gets off on it.”

Will pulled off his headphones and jumped off his chair running straight to Sherlock as he walked into the kitchen. Will hugged his legs, “bye, Sherl!”

Sherlock cringed and squatted down to his level, “no. Sherlock.”

Will looked at you and you shook your head with an emphasized look of disgust. “Ew, silly name.” Then smiled when Will giggled, “let's stick with Sherlock. That's better.”

Will laughed and Sherlock picked him up and walked into the sitting room. “That's right. No silly names. Don't ever let anyone call you Willie unless there's an interesting game involved.”

You scoffed, “he's only two.”

“I was nine when I pursued my first case. He’s not that far off.”

John was still glancing between you and Sherlock when you walked over to the desk and grabbed your coat and will’s. “Where are you going anyway?”

You slipped on your coat and Sherlock helped Will into his. “We’re going to stay with family for a few days. And like I said, I've been outside the room he's occupying and I don't want to be in it.” You dropped your gaze for a moment, considering what would very possibly happen in the next twenty-four hours then looked John directly in the eye. “They say when you step into a war zone or battlefield, a soldier's senses and reflexes heighten.” His brow twitched. “Consider any room he’s in to be a war zone.” You glanced between the two men as you picked up your tablet and Will’s headphones and put them in your bag, “be careful.” You took Will from Sherlock’s arms and with one last look into Sherlock’s blue eyes that had more flecks of green in them this morning, you turned for the door and walked out. “We’ll see you two when we get back.”

You were almost to the front door when hurried steps on the stairs behind you made you turn.

Sherlock stopped in front of you gazing down into your eyes for a moment before framing your face in his hands. “Don't let your guard down. I’ll see you in a few days at most.”

He leaned down and you pressed a hand against his chest. “Not with me. No lies.”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “I know.”  You looked into his eyes taking in the dilated pupils and the flash of sadness. He pressed his lips to your forehead and you closed your eyes. “Don’t let that guard down,” He whispered.

“We won't. Be good.” You gave him a pointed look.

He grinned, “I'm focused.” Then he leaned down and paused inches from your mouth. “Trust me.” He gazed into your eyes, still imploring. You leaned forward and he pressed his lips to yours softly.

You grabbed the back of his neck pulling him closer and kissed him harder for just a second. When you pulled back, you whispered, “always.”

“Daddy?” Will pouted and you could hear the wobble in his voice. You could never wrap your head around the fact that he only used that name when it was just you or the three of you. He was only two and yet somehow he understood that it was dangerous.

Sherlock smiled down at him and brushed his fingers through Will’s hair, “don't worry, you'll have fun too.”

Will reached out for him and Sherlock lifted him into his arms and hugged him. “Ready for battle. Trust you.” His small voice was steady and determined.

Sherlock grinned down at him as he pulled back. “That’s my boy.” Sherlock ruffled his hair.

You watched the exchange with a tearful smile and caught the slight surprise on Sherlock’s face at his own words. It was another moment you didn't want to leave and yet you could feel the time passing with a creeping feeling in your skin. You always followed your instincts. “We should really go.”

Sherlock handed him back to you then grasped your hand and gave it a slight squeeze as he opened the front door with his other hand. He held onto you gently as you walked by then let your hand slip from his. Will waved over your shoulder and you gave him one last smile before walking away toward your car hoping that Sherlock really could end the threat that Magnussen posed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Line borrowed from His Last Vow in BOLD

The Holmes’ small den was always your favorite room since your first time at the house. The chair next to the fireplace was simply perfect and just felt like home. You were curled up in the chair with a book in front of a crackling fire when Mrs. Holmes walked in with her favorite tea tray. She poured two cups then added the cream and sugar. She liked to do it for guests, especially you, and you didn't bother arguing with her anymore.

“Thank you.” She glanced up with a smile that reminded you so much of Sherlock as she handed you a cup.

“You’re welcome.” She picked up her own book from the table before sitting in a nearby chair.

You sipped the tea as you read but had difficulty taking in any of the words. You could've sworn you'd read this page at least five times but you had no idea what had happened. You kept thinking about Sherlock and the plan you were sure he would’ve put into motion tonight. You had no way of knowing if he went along with it but if he did, he should've been out by now. You fought the itch to text him by sipping the soothing liquid from the cup.

“Are you feeling okay, dear?”

You glanced up at Mrs. Holmes, “hmm?”

She chuckled and glanced down at your book. “You've been on that page for ten minutes.”

The blush crept up your cheeks, “you caught me.”

She closed her book and leaned forward, “I know when my girl is worried.”

It always warmed your heart when she called you that and you couldn't stop the well of tears but you tried to blink them away. “It's just been a rough week.” You tried another smile but it felt weak and you could tell she saw right through it.

“What is it that has you so worried? Did Sherlock sniff out another serial killer?”

You let out a bark of laughter and shook your head. “No. I think maybe a serial killer would be a more comforting thought. At least, they have mostly predictable behavior.”

Her brow furrowed, “what has my boy gotten himself into this time?”

You fingered the pages of your book. “He’s just trying to make it safer.”

“I will never understand why he and Mycroft can't work together on the dangerous ones. Mycroft has more resources to help him but they're both so damn stubborn.”

“Mycroft wouldn't be able to help this time. He wouldn't be able to intervene unless… well, it would take a lot. This man has his hands in a lot of pockets, even in our government.”

“Oh, dear.” Her gaze dropped to her book. “Mycroft was a lost cause, he always had to be in control but when Sherlock was younger and displayed such intelligence, I had hoped he’d go into mathematics. What harm could come in those fields?”

“Being an expert in any field could put government eyes on you. Look at me.” You smiled, trying to ease her fears.

“Yes. But in your position you have people that have your back.”

“Sherlock has John.”

“Yes. Those two cowboys thinking they can take on the world.”

You chuckled, “spoken like a true mother.”

She smiled and met your gaze. “We do what we can and then hope for the best.” She glanced toward the hall, “but mostly we just wish we had more time with them in those younger years.”

Her melancholy was contagious, “it does feel like it goes by so fast.”

“If you're lucky, you get some of it back with grandchildren.”

Your phone buzzed and danced on the side table. You apologized as you reached for it then read the screen. “It's John.”

“No need, dear. Go ahead.”

You answered before the phone even touched your ear with your heart already pounding an irregularly fast beat. “Hey.”

“You need to get back to London.”

You clutched the phone and almost dropped the tea cup before setting it on the table. “What happened?”

“Sherlock's been shot. We just got to the hospital and they've taken him directly into surgery.”

Your gaze shot up to Mrs. Holmes, “can you watch Will? I need to go.”

She nodded as she reached over and grabbed your hand, “of course we will.” You could see it in her eyes that she knew it was bad.

“Sherlock's been shot but John said he's in surgery now.”

Her eyes widened and she stood up with you. “Come on now, you need to get a move on. He’ll need you.”

You swallowed thickly and spoke into the phone, “I'm on my way.”

~~

You slammed the car into a spot in the parking lot and rushed out. Checking your phone on your way to the front door, you read through John’s updates. You took your first deep breath when you finished the last one. He made it out of surgery and woke up before they moved him to a private room.

You picked up your pace when you finally saw the front doors then a flash of short blonde hair caught your eye. “Mary!” She turned and you crashed into her, wrapping her in a tight hug. She squeezed you back before you both went through the front doors. “Have you heard anything new?”

She shook her head but something seemed off. You tried to focus but she was already moving ahead of you. “Mary, wait.”

“Don't you want to see him?” She looked over her shoulder until you caught up with her and lowered your voice.

“Tell me you can get him.”

Her brow furrowed and she glanced around. “Who?”

You clenched your jaw, “you know who. If he shot Sherlock then he knows he was too close. If he finds out or if he already knows… I can’t let Will get used for some power hungry…”

Mary stopped and squeezed your hand, “he’ll be fine. I promise. We won’t let anything happen to Will.” She smiled genuinely but she tried to conceal her fear again. She turned and pulled you with her toward the stairs.

You kept throwing glances at her from the corner of your eye and then saw John at the railing on the second floor. You both hurried up the last set of stairs and John rushed out the update you had read on your phone with an extra tidbit he hadn't sent.

**“His first word? Mary.”**

You examined her face but she hugged John and obscured your view. Something like an itch inside your head, a red flag waving frantically but you didn't have all the pieces. Something was wrong and for some reason, it had something to do with Mary.

By the time you got to Sherlock’s room, he was out. The doctor and nurses all said it could be a while before he was coherent again. He’d been through a lot and it took a hell of a lot of willpower to fight his way back. You pulled a chair over to his bed and sat down while they continued to ramble.

You refused to move as the doctor left and you picked up Sherlock’s hand that felt too cold. You sandwiched his hand between both of yours trying to warm it up and bent down pressing a kiss to his wrist. “Please keep fighting. I can't go through it again. Please don't make me try.”

A hand touched your shoulder and you jumped slightly in your seat. You looked up into John’s gaze filled with compassion as it always was when you were hurting. “He’ll pull through. He’s too stubborn not too.”

You blinked back the tears and nodded. “Yeah.” With a glance toward the door, you asked, “where's Mary?”

“She wanted to get some more information from the nurses.”

For the next three days, John and Mary took turns relieving you day and night. They’d tell you to get something to eat or some real rest, but even though you knew they were right, you could barely leave his room let alone his side. They resorted to bringing food so you would eat and calling Will to get you to stretch your legs out of the room and talk to him.

Sometime during the third night of your bedside vigil, John half carried you to an empty room nearby for some actual sleep and he wouldn’t accept no. You were too exhausted to put up much of a fight anyway. You woke from a deep sleep jerking up in the bed and panicking for a moment before you remembered where you were and why. Dawn was beginning to break the horizon outside your window when you jumped from the bed and rushed to Sherlock’s room.

A nurse was checking him over when you walked in and smiled up at you. “Got some sleep, did ya?” She glanced at her watch. “A good six hours. That’s good.” You gave her a tight smile and looked at his monitor. “His vitals look good and he even showed a few signs of consciousness. Maybe we’ll see those pretty blues today. He’ll still be in a lot of pain and with the meds, he might only be coherent for short snaps of time.” She flashed another genuine smile and you walked to the chair where John was sleeping in a really uncomfortable position. You couldn’t understand how the two of you had been doing that for days and suddenly felt thankful for his actions the night before.

The nurse waved as she walked out and you nudged John awake. He jumped before gathering his wits then blinked up at you, “you sleep? Slept. What time is it?”

You hugged him, “thank you.” He groaned and rolled his head on his neck before standing and stretching his back. “Somewhere around dawn. The nurse said Sherlock might wake soon. Do you want to run down for some coffee with me?”

He gazed at you looking more tired than when you last saw him but then you were seeing through exhausted eyes at the time too. “Let’s go.”

You headed down to the cafeteria and asked John if anyone called with information on the shooting. He shook his head then dug your mobile out of his pocket. You texted Ada updating her on Sherlock’s condition and letting her know Will could call when he got up. You bought two coffees as John called Mary. He told you she had gone home to get some sleep before checking up on the intern and the doctor that John had covering for him.

You left him in the cafeteria on the phone with Mary keeping your troubled thoughts to yourself and headed back up to Sherlock’s wing. You spotted Jeanine heading for the stairs when you turned into his hall and you strolled a little faster.

You cursed silently when you looked through the window and his eyes were closed but when you opened the door, his eyes shot open. You grinned as you moved to his side. “Hi.” He stared at you, his brow slowly scrunching together. “How bad is it?”

His gaze flicked to the door, “what are you doing here?”

You glanced over your shoulder, “John’s just downstairs, he’ll be up soon.”

“Is Mary here?”

“She has been off and on but she’s checking on the office. I just left John on the phone with her. Why?”

He grimaced. “So, she was here.”

“Sherlock, you're not making sense.” You squeezed his hand with that itch flaring again.

He held you with a piercing gaze. “You can’t trust her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s not who she says she is.”

You pulled back, “how..?”

His brows furrowed as he cut you off. “You knew?”

“I told you Will was everything. Did you honestly think with my job I didn’t run a background check on the new woman in John’s life?”

His jaw tensed and he looked away, “well?”

“She was an undercover intelligence operative. She changed everything when she was able to get out.”

“Undercover…” He scoffed. “You shouldn’t be here.” He looked into your eyes and you noted the flash of fear, “he’s not…”

You interrupted him, “of course not.”

“Then you need to go back to him and stay there. I have this handled.”

You placed your coffee on the table and sat down in your chair brushing the newspapers off the bed. You sandwiched his hand between both of yours. “Just tell me if it was Magnussen, so I can stop worrying and maybe put someone on it.”

He held your gaze and you could only imagine what he saw. “You are the bravest, toughest woman I’ve ever known.” Your stomach clenched and he squeezed your hand, “no lies.”

You rolled your eyes, “why would there ever be a point?”

“Promise me you will leave this hospital without seeing John or Mary, you will go back to him and stay. No more questions either.”

You clenched your jaw but then squeezed his hand and nodded. “Okay.”

“Mary.”

“What?” But it felt right and your mind went into a frenzy sifting through the information you had on her and what you thought you had gained with her.

He smirked, “no more questions, remember?”

You opened your mouth to argue then sighed and looked down to his hand in yours. “I’m glad you're alright.” You kissed the back of his hand.

“I saw you.” You searched his eyes and only found a rawness that took your breath away. “I saw you when I was dying. I went looking for red beard to calm down and Will was with him. Then you were there telling me that people deal with pain differently but the only way to survive it was to find something to survive for.”

You stared wide eyed then looked away. “John said they lost you. You had flat-lined.”

“I knew John was in trouble and if he was in trouble then you…” Your gaze was drawn back to his face and his bottom lip twitched. “Well, anyone who will listen knows the only person you look out for is Will. Someone needs to look out for you. I gave my word that I would never let you find out if you could survive your worst nightmare. I made a promise.”

You dropped your gaze and smiled as you rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, “no, you never promised.”

“I gave my word. That is more sacred than a promise, but speaking of promises, you made one to me.” He reached out and touched your chin.

Your gaze flicked back up to his. “Yes, I did. I’ll see you when this is done then.” You stood up and squeezed his hand once more before letting go. “I have to say that she did help us and she truly does care for John.” You bit your lip as the confusion ran wild with your theories, “and you too. It started as respect but I’ve seen so much more than that over the last six months.” But you had trouble fitting that woman with the one that shot Sherlock in the chest.

You closed your eyes turning from his gaze. “No secrets. You need to know that Moriarty helped her get out. He’s the reason she even came to London. It was years before you met John but I could never get it out of my head that he somehow worked it so she met him. I think he wanted her to get close to you when he sent her to London but when she got here, she had planned ahead and had information on him to make a deal and cut all ties. He never owned her. But I know him, beating him only makes him more intrigued by you which usually ends in some kind of tragedy in your life.” You opened your eyes but couldn’t meet his gaze so you looked out the window. “She knew my name because of the file she had on him. It was the first thing that made me look into her, the reaction on her face when John introduced us.”

“You… why would your name be in a file…” He grasped your hand and you met his gaze, “Y/n?” His eyes were flicking back and forth between yours but he wasn’t actually seeing and you gave him a few seconds. His eyes suddenly stopped, his brow furrowed as he focused on you. “Sally?”

"Shelly." You nodded, “just because we don't lie to each other, doesn't mean we don't have things in our past we haven't shared.” You paused and his brow twitched. “James Moriarty was the man on that study, the one pacing by the window. He was going by a different name back then.” You dropped your gaze to the hand he held so gently and desperately hoped he wouldn’t let go.

The beeping sounded so much louder in those few quiet seconds and you swallowed the nerves. His fingertips flirted with your palm, “why didn’t you tell him?”

“What?” You looked up.

“John? Why didn’t you tell him?”

“Because it wasn’t my story to tell and I shouldn’t have known anyway.” You looked away but he squeezed your hand then you found his gaze and kept it. “I don’t interfere in other people’s business especially when they’re grieving and finally find something that grounds them.” His brow hiked up and you rolled your eyes, “as long as it doesn’t harm them.”

A small smile appeared. “I’ll see you soon.”

You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, “try not to get shot again. You're far too clever for that.” You brushed your hand over his other cheek, “do you need anything?”

He turned into your hand and kissed your palm. “For you to be safe.” He glanced into the corners of his room as if something just occurred to him.

You blinked away the tears as you stepped back from the bed. “Don’t worry, I made a call. There will be glitches in the system throughout my time here and there’s no video in your room.” You stopped in front of the door still staring at him. “Promise you know what you're doing?”

He smirked. “I'm far too clever, remember?”

You debated the impulse to kiss him for a split second before rushing back to the bed and pressing your lips to his. His hands grasped your face as he eagerly responded then held you close when you began to pull back. The tears were back in your eyes but you wouldn’t cry. “Just in case. I would never forgive myself.”

He smiled as his thumb brushed over your cheekbone. “I’ll see you later.”

The pain in his eyes made you nervous and you glanced at the morphine drip. He was up to something but you couldn't change his mind. “Whatever you're planning, keep in mind you just had a bullet rip through you and you are only human.” You saw the argument stirring but you beat him to the punch. “That coat isn’t magic either.”

“I will call you tomorrow.” His thumb smoothed over your bottom lip. “I promise.”

You kissed him once more before backing out of the room and keeping your promise so hopefully, he'd have more resolve to keep his.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lines borrowed from His last vow in BOLD

The fire created a warm atmosphere in the small living room and the crackle and pop broke the silence that lay about the rest of the house. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had gone to the supermarket about thirty minutes before and the house always seemed much too big when it was just you and Will. You sat on the couch reading and glanced up at your son humming as he built what was shaping up to be a very nice castle with his blocks.

Your mind started to wander and as usual, one person took center stage.

Sherlock had called when he promised but he was definitely not in the hospital. Yesterday morning, a nurse called to inform you of his new room in the hospital, on his request. With a few questions, you found out he had ripped his stitches and had been brought in by an ambulance with internal bleeding and an erratic pulse but the nurse relayed the message that he promised he wouldn't leave this time until a doctor released him, within reason. You had laughed and knew without that little bit, you might not actually trust the nurse's words.

The doorbell rang and you stood up. Will glanced at you, “grands?”

You shook your head with a smile, “no, love. You stay here and play. I’ll go check, okay?” He nodded and turned back to his castle.

You walked through the hall and stopped at the coat hooks where your bag hung. You pulled the small handgun from the back pocket and held it against the small of your back as you opened the door. John stood on the doorstep and you heaved a sigh of relief. “What are you doing here?”

He grinned but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I don't need an excuse to see you.” He hugged you and you awkwardly wrapped your arms around him, your gun pressed against his back but he didn’t seem to mind. His hold was a bit too tight.

“What happened? Is it Sherlock?”

He let go and stepped back with a glance at the gun, “he's fine, back in the hospital. Not sure when they'll release him but at least he’ll stay there this time.” Your brow furrowed and he asked, “where’s Will?”

You stepped back and apologized, “sorry. I'm just shocked that you're here. He's in the living room.” You closed the door and slipped the gun safely back into its place before following John.

Will glanced over his shoulder and his face lit up. “Uncle John!”

He barreled into his legs and John picked him up. “Having fun?”

“Please play blocks?”

John chuckled as he sat on the floor, “when have I ever said no to blocks?” You returned to your seat on the couch and he glanced at you, “working on those manners again?”

You nodded then watched them, holding your tongue instead firing a million questions at him.  

John glanced up at you a few times before finally starting to talk in a calm and even tone, something the two of you had learned to do with emotional subjects early on after Will was born. “Did you know?”

“About?”

He leveled you with a tense look and you dropped your gaze. He scoffed but reeled it in. “Everything was a lie and my best friend kept it…”

“That's not fair.”

“Like hell.” He snapped but quickly tried to cover it with a cough. Will wasn't fooled, he climbed into John's lap and hugged him.

John lowered his face to the top of Will’s head then his shoulders slowly rose with a slight shake. Your chest tightened. “I couldn't take that from you. I was clinging to Will and by the time I figured it out, she made you happy.” Your voice hitched, “I know it's a shit excuse but I wasn't even supposed to know. What kind of friend looks into your girlfriend’s past because she’s paranoid that someone might…” Your voice shook as you dropped your gaze to the floor, your vision blurring, “I couldn't take that away from you. I’m sorry but I couldn't.” You sucked in a stuttering breath, “I saw the way she looked at you. That wasn't a lie. I saw how you came alive again, not just for me or Will, but yourself.”

“Mama?” Will tapped on your knee.

You swiped at your cheeks as you looked at him. “It's okay, love. I'm just… I'm feeling sad because I love Uncle John and he's hurt.” Will turned to John and you met John’s gaze, “I'm so sorry.”

“She was the one that shot Sherlock.” He said it almost like removing a bandaid, his voice flat as he stared at you but you couldn't keep his gaze.

You grit your teeth for a second. “I know. I'm trying to work through that.”

“Do you know why?” Your gaze flicked up to his and you shook your head. “Because she didn't want me to know the truth about her.” You clenched your jaw and looked down at your hands gripping your knees. “Try not to blame yourself for that one too,” he bit out.

Your gaze darted to his before falling away again. You knew he was hurt and lashing out but he was right. If Sherlock had known maybe he would have figured it out, maybe he wouldn't have gotten shot. It may not have been a lie but it was the closest thing to it in regards to your relationship with Sherlock. It was a secret that could have cost his life. Your voice was barely there when you finally got the words out. “I deserve that.”

The crackle of the fire echoed around the room then John cursed under his breath. “No. No, you don't. I'm sorry.”

“Mama? Uncle John?” Will stepped in between your legs and climbed up onto your lap and hugged you.

You caressed his cheek and ran your fingers through his hair before kissing the top of his head. “It's alright. We’re just talking and working through something.”

John walked over and knelt in front of you. “I understand why you did it, I do. I just…” his eyes whispered his pain and it physically hurt to keep his gaze but you didn't dare break away this time. “Why did it have to be her too?”

You shrugged with a sad smile. “We’re just drawn to certain things. There's nothing wrong in that.”

“She wasn’t supposed to be…” He looked away clenching his jaw.

“I know you probably don't want to hear this, but do you really think it would've worked out especially after Sherlock came back if she wasn't? You know what happened with all the others. Normal is boring and it just doesn't work for people like us. You have to admit to that, at least.”

His mouth drew tight into a thin line. “I don't think I'm there yet.”

“That's okay too.”

Will turned in your lap and faced John.

John’s gaze dropped down to Will’s who stared up at him with a quiet reverence that didn't fit a child of his age. Will threw his arms around John’s neck almost knocking him over. “I love you, uncle John.”

John glanced at you as his arms wrapped around Will. “I love you too.”

“She wasn't a bad person. She was just really good at her job and she got out because she was tired of that life. Not many like her can get out but she did. I know she lied and I'm not condoning that, I just think you should know that.” He met your gaze then nodded.

Will turned in John’s arms then pressed his cheek against John’s as he looked up at you. You smiled as John matched Will’s pout, “how ‘bout some hot chocolate?”

He beamed at you before turning to John, “hot chocolate makes you better.”

John released him with a chuckle and stood up ruffling Will’s hair. “Hot chocolate sounds perfect.” John watched Will as he fixed his hair. It looked more like Sherlock’s when he was done.

You stood and grinned at John’s raised eyebrows then shrugged. “He's getting picky about how he wears it.”

Will skipped through the doorway and you saw the time. “Grandma and grandpa should be home soon. We should make some tea.”

Will answered without missing a beat. “Nope. Hot chocolate.”

“He sounds more like Sherlock too.” John chuckled.

“Don't encourage him.”

Once in the kitchen, John glanced at you and cleared his throat. “Have you seen the papers about…”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes. I told you she wasn't completely in it either.”

“She loved him.”

You looked at John perplexed. “Oh please, John. She wasn't in love with him, she didn't even know him.” You grabbed the bag of marshmallows and hot chocolate mix out of the cabinet and set them down on the table near Will’s seat. “She loved the idea of fixing him but there was nothing for her to fix. I still think she was using the relationship to make her ex jealous. She told me about him at the wedding and with the money she’ll net from those stories, I’m sure he’ll come running now. For better or worse.”

John smirked, “I thought you might say something like that.”

You eyed him catching onto his play then grinned, you could play too. “Those things she described in the papers?”

John swallowed and turned away to the stove, “I didn't really read too in depth. There are some things I don't want to…”

“All of it was bullshit.”

His head jerked toward you, “really?”

“They never had sex and you can tell by the way she played up all the sensational crap like role play and seven times, blah, blah. I know what he can do and it can be summed up in one word.” John looked interested and yet conflicted. You chuckled as you whispered, “mind blowing. And that's just with his hands.”

John coughed and turned away. “Enough. I don't… nope. Don't need to know.”

“At least she didn't say he was a fumbling mess and didn't know what he was doing so she obviously likes him. She could have been completely awful. I have to give her that.”

John checked the kettle and cleared his throat. “Probably because she could finally get away from Magnussen.”

“Yes, well, I don't think she realizes how much all that publicity will stick with her.” You watched Will pour the chocolate powder into his cup. “Once it’s out there, it never goes away.”

John followed your gaze to Will, “he’ll understand. We’ll make sure of that.”

You smirked, “he’s more perceptive than that.” You brushed your fingers through Will’s hair taking care not to rearrange it and he smiled up at you. “I just need to make sure he knows how to treat women.” John snorted and bit his lip. You brandished your finger, “don't even go there. Will is going to be a gentleman.”

John nodded, still fighting the smile. “Yes. Without a doubt.”

You barked out a laugh. “Shut up. You're both terrible role models.”

You and John laughed and Will stared at the two of you then jabbed his fists to his hips. “Hot chocolate, Mama.” You looked at John and met his surprised gaze then heard the soft sigh, “please.”  

John chuckled, “I don't think you’ll have anything to worry about.”

You grinned as John brought the kettle of hot water over from the stove and poured it into Will’s cup. “You’re welcome, love.”

~~

Christmas day had come like a whirlwind, yet it had felt like Christmas for a month at the Holmes’ residence. Ada always started decorating on the first of December and Will had absolutely loved it. It was interesting how different Christmas became in your eyes once you had a child. The decorations and music didn’t invoke memories that swallowed you whole in a depression of lost moments but drew out memories that made you smile and some that you hoped you could give to your son in the future.

You had spent every Christmas here since you met Mr. and Mrs. Holmes on their insistence and you were grateful beyond belief for it. They had helped you enjoy it and dwell in a spirit of remembrance that didn’t leave you feeling empty.

Your very first Christmas morning with them, they had given you ornaments to put on the tree, one was a picture of you with Will as a newborn and one was a picture of you with your parents. You never could find the words even though you tried when you hugged Mrs. Holmes. She had simply whispered ‘you’re welcome, dear’ when all that came from your mouth was a watery thank you. It was the first time that you knew you could never thank them enough for what they had given you and Will.

Every Christmas you felt that overwhelming gratitude, not just for how much they had helped you during what used to be the worst time of year but how they had treated you and Will like you belonged there. They genuinely enjoyed the time they had with you. There were so many moments where you couldn’t find the words to thank them and Mrs. Holmes would smile knowingly. It didn’t take long to know the words weren’t needed even when you still tried.

This Christmas morning had been interesting with Mycroft and Sherlock there. You couldn’t believe how involved Sherlock had been with Will and his presents. The joy that radiated from him was so unlike the man who grew bored of common traditions, yet Will had changed something not only for Sherlock but Mycroft too. The brothers had played some old games while Will watched and even tried his hand at a few but it was Operation that had been completely hilarious. Mycroft had actually thrown his head back and laughed. You had never seen the man so open and carefree before.

Will finally passed out after lunch and then Mary arrived. You hadn’t spoken to her since the hospital and your greeting wasn’t as warm as it usually was even though you had tried prepping yourself for it all day. You led her into the living room and got her a blanket when she mentioned how cold she was but you had a hard time getting anything out. You hated the tense silence yet any time you tried to say something, it just wouldn’t come.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered.

“No.” You bit out and pivoted away, not completely giving her your back. You stared at the tree concentrating on your breathing and locking down the anger. The ornament of you and Will hung from the branch in front and there was an old one Sherlock had made as a child dangling near it. You thought of Christmas day two years ago when John had invited Mary for dinner and she arrived just as you hung that very ornament with such care. How different things had been then. “I’ve tried to put it behind me. I’ve tried really hard but I just don’t see why you had to. I kept your secret and you know I would have helped you. You know I would have talked to him.”

“It was the only thing I could think of in the moment. You know how it can be when you have to make a split-second decision.”

You spun around, “he could have died!” You bit down, leashing the rage. You glanced at the door and lowered your voice, “he did die. He was just lucky enough to be able to fight his way back. That was a chance you took just because you didn’t want to trust that John could...” You turned away squeezing your lips together as you choked on the fear and anger welling up too fast.

Her gaze fell to her lap and she took a shaky breath in. “I can’t change it. There’s nothing I can do to take it back but I never… I never wanted to hurt him or you. I just panicked.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned your head her way. “We don’t have many people that we trust but you were one of them. I don’t know if I could ever get that trust back... but I know that you will always be a part of John’s life so you will always be a part of ours. I will find a way to make that work because John is family and…” Your voice hitched, “you are family, but I don’t know how long it will take to get back what we had. I need that time.”

Her gaze met yours as a tear slipped down her cheek. “Thank you. That’s more than I could ask for.”

You turned back to the tree and swiped your cheeks then cleared your throat. “Mrs. Holmes was making some tea. I need to go help with dinner but I’ll make sure you get some.”

“Thank you.”

You started out of the room but paused at the door and turned. “We all have demons, Amanda.” Her eyes widened at her real name and she pressed her lips together. “But the only way to beat them is to trust in those around us. Hiding them only gives them more power over you and turn into consequences like this. I tried to tell you before but I wasn't going to force your hand. Next time, if there is one, I won't be so quiet, not when those consequences affect all of us.” You strode through the door and stepped into the bathroom to splash cold water on your face before calmly strolling back into the kitchen. You took over chopping vegetables at the kitchen counter that Mrs. Holmes had left while she flitted about.

Sherlock glanced at you from his seat but you didn’t meet his eye and he very wisely didn’t say a word. Mrs. Holmes cleaned up and moved finished prep to different spots around the kitchen. Her controlled chaos method always made you smile and think of Sherlock’s organization.

Mycroft started whining again. You found it funny that he didn’t seem to whine as much when Will was awake. Billy handed Mrs. Holmes a cup of tea and you smirked when he began talking about being Sherlock’s protege.

Sherlock’s last minute invite made you question his reasoning behind it but then he told you about Mary coming and you forgot all about Billy. Now, you could see that timing had been a bit too perfect. And Mrs. Hudson suddenly having plans with a new gentleman. You watched him read the paper from the corner of your eye.

 **“Stop it, you. Somebody’s put a bullet in my boy and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous.** ”

You tensed and sliced through the potato harder than intended. She turned to you and saw a cup of tea next to you.

**“Ah, this was for Mary.”**

You jerked and brought the knife down too hard again and almost chopped your finger off. “Shit.”

Mrs. Holmes stopped and looked at you, “are you okay?”

You grinned, “yeah.” You chuckled as you showed there was no blood, “wasn’t watching what I was doing.”

She tried to appear satisfied but you knew she wasn’t fooled, **“I’ll be back in a minute.”**

Billy walked out of the room and Mycroft turned in his seat. “You know I can’t tell if you hate her for shooting my brother or for not shooting her original target.” You glanced over your shoulder and saw his smug smile before turning your gaze back to the cutting board but you couldn’t help checking out Sherlock from the corner of your eye. He was watching you with his hands against his mouth.

“It’s been six months. John seems to be coming around.” Sherlock added as if bored with the subject.

Mycroft chuckled and you continued chopping forcing a grin. “Uncle Myk,” you emphasized, “maybe you should go preen. I don’t think you’ve admired yourself in the mirror for at least thirty minutes.”

Sherlock snorted and Mycroft stood from the table. “I’ll remind you that this is much better than our safe house for six months.” You glanced at him then continued chopping. “I think I’ll get some fresh air.”

After Mycroft left the room, Sherlock walked up behind you. His hands rested gently on yours as you finished cutting. “How long do you think he’ll nap?”

“Why? Big plans today?”

“You could say that.” He smiled against your neck.

You placed the knife down on the cutting board and looked at him, “what are you planning?”

He smiled and kissed your cheek. “I’m going to have a smoke with my brother.”

You watched him go with the feeling that you were missing something sharpening. You spotted John walking through the hallway and waved when he smiled your way. Between your conversations with him and Sherlock, John was going to give Mary another chance and he was most likely going to start today. He always loved Christmas and it would be the perfect Watson move.

You brushed the chopped potatoes into the bowl and Mrs. Holmes walked back in. “Why didn’t John and Mary come together?”

You opened your mouth but closed it before you could even think of a lie. You looked her straight in the eye and could see that there was no need for one. “They’ve been going through something. John’s been living with Sherlock while they work through it.”

“Does this have anything to do with the case that put Sherlock in the hospital and you into a safe house?”

You let out a short laugh, “should’ve known.”

“We knew something was going on but we weren’t going to intrude until you were ready. Plus we love having you two here.” She walked toward you and patted your cheek lovingly before she turned to take over and you shooed her away.

“Nope. It’s your turn to relax. I’ve got this.”

She smiled and disappeared from the room for a few minutes then came back in, picked up her tea, and sat in Sherlock’s chair.

You had just finished chopping the carrots when Mycroft walked in and sat down at the kitchen table.

“You know I liked you immediately but after spending some time with you, I've really come to enjoy your presence. Your ties with Sherlock may have solidified your place in this family but I'm happy to say that I approve wholeheartedly.”

You turned and stared at Mycroft. “Are you okay?”

He smiled then fell face first to the table.

“Jesus!” You rushed over and checked his pulse then noticed that Mrs. Holmes had passed out too.“Sherlock!” He rushed into the kitchen and put his hand up to his mother’s nose. “What the fuck?” You stared at him crossing your arms over your chest.

John stormed into the kitchen, “ **Sherlock? Did you just drug my pregnant wife?** ”

Your eyes widened as Sherlock walked over to you and put his hand in front of Mycroft’s nose. “I checked his pulse. And I repeat, what the fuck?”

He smirked then turned and tried to calm down John by telling him his homeless protege was an excellent chemist. Billy seemed to come out of nowhere and helped Sherlock explain the situation in only the way they could. You stared at them echoing John’s question.

 **“Deal with the devil.”**  

You stared at him as he pulled on his gloves quickly explaining what he had done when he was supposedly still in the hospital. John strode from the room. “Sherlock?” You begged and he finally turned to you then grabbed your face and kissed you full on the mouth.

“I told you it would take some time but I would solve it.” His eyes flicked between yours, “now, its time.”

He picked up Mycroft’s laptop and you grabbed his arm, “wait! Please don't underestimate him. He's extremely intelligent and he's not…”

Sherlock smiled, “ordinary. I know.” His eyes flashed with excitement and you heard a helicopter. He pulled you in for another kiss. “Merry Christmas to me.”

“Excitable puppy.” You shook your head as he made his way to the door and you followed. You stopped just a few feet away and Sherlock paused with his hand on the doorknob.

He looked back at you and a chill slithered down your back. “I’ll burn it down if I have to. You and Mary will be safe.” He smiled before stepping out and closing the door.

You leaned back against the wall and closed your eyes. The memory flaring into the foreground at his words.

 

_You had surprised Sherlock with a visit and ended up naked in bed cooling down after a very vigorous workout. You were laying on your back and Sherlock was on his side. His fingers brushing softly up and down your bare stomach with an occasional stroke over the few stretch marks from carrying Will._

_“So, what does your mind palace look like?”_

_His gaze flicked up to yours. “What do you mean?”_

_“Have you ever seen the movie Dreamcatcher?” You laughed, reading the answer on his face. “Well, there's a scene that I always picture when you talk of your mind palace.” His chest rumbled and you pinched his arm, “don't laugh! It was a book turned into movie but the movie was still pretty good.”_

_“I'll take your word for it.”_

_You rolled toward him onto your side and brushed your fingers over the scar from the bullet Mary put in his chest. “Maybe we could just solve everything by burning it down.”_

_“I don't follow.”_

_“Appledor. Burn it to the ground with a nice gas leak. I’m sure there’s enough people in the government and intelligence agencies that have felt his pressure and would be overjoyed to take part then he will have nothing. A megalomaniac masochist should not have that much power. Take the power away from the masochist and he's just a disgusting man with nothing to offer. No one would do business with him and he’ll fade away or probably be shot within the week by someone he’s threatened.”_

_He chuckled, “how have we never played murder? You’d be incredibly good at it.”_

_You smirked, “I’ve read through enough cases. I guess it does give more than enough ideas of how to pull it off. Although, I get the feeling we’re not thinking the same thing.”_

_“I play this game, an exercise really, where I plan out a murder and let it play out. Then I find the cracks and see how I could possibly get away with it.”_

_“Well, I just played round one quite sufficiently.”_

_“Property loss is not murder.”_

_“I murdered his way of life. The actual murder gets taken care of for me, I wouldn’t have to lift a finger after that.”_

_“Ah, yes. The east wind takes us all in the end.”_

_“What?”_

_He smiled as his fingers continued their dance down your arm and around to your back, “it’s this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path. Seeks out the unworthy and plucks them from the earth.”_

_“The Langoliers. Another classic by Stephen King.”_

_“What?”_

_“The east wind sounds awfully like Stephen King’s Langoliers, monsters that go after those who are lazy and waste time and they leave nothingness in their path.”_

_His brow furrowed. “My brother told me the east wind story.”_

_“I never pegged him for a King fan.” He chuckled and you eyed him, “so, how would you kill me?”_

_“Easy. Poison in your coffee.”_

_You barked out a laugh. “Well, that’s the last time I accept any liquid from you.”_

You pushed the memory away as your stomach twisted. Billy stepped into the hall and you examined him. Sherlock had spoken highly of him before but trusting him to drug his family and John’s wife was a lot. “What’s the plan?”

He shrugged, “it's just supposed to knock them out for forty-five minutes to an hour.” His gaze fell away and his head lowered just slightly. “Just enough time for him to get there and see inside.”  He told you the truth and respected you but you had no idea why.

“Bill?”

“Yes, ma'am?” He looked up but his head was still tilted down. It made you think of Will when he felt he'd done something wrong.

“I'm not mad at you. You were only helping him.”

“He thought you’d be upset.”

You gave him a small smile, “I couldn't be mad at you, but may I ask why you would care?”

His eyes widened, “because you're important.”

“To you?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“But why?”

He frowned then looked as though the answer should be clear as day. “Because you've always treated me right and you're important to him, of course.”

“Thank you but I don't think I deserve it.”

“You don't treat me no different. That deserves much more than my respect, ma'am.” You studied him seeing a little more of the man that Sherlock had plucked from the streets. He smiled with a nod before turning back toward the kitchen.

“Bill?” He paused and looked back at you. “Please don’t call me ma’am. Y/n is fine.”

He smiled, “certainly.”


	17. Chapter 17

The living room never seemed so small even after you had pushed the couch back and moved the table. The fire was beginning to die causing the ticking of the clock on the other side of the room to grow louder and more grating. You continued to pace back and forth across the room still checking your phone every ten to twelve minutes. It was driving you crazy but you just couldn’t stop.

It had been hours since they left and something was wrong, very wrong. Mycroft had left more than two hours ago and he would’ve called by now if everything was fine. Sherlock and John would’ve called by now. The only thing worse than not knowing what really happened was getting lost in all the scenarios of what could be. Each scene playing out in your head was worse than the last.

Mary suddenly blocked your path and grabbed you by the arms. “You need to stop or I’m going to lose it.” You clenched your jaw but the worry in her brow and the hint of fear in her eyes gave you pause. “I understand, but this isn’t going to do anything. I was drugged by a bum…”

You snapped, “he’s not a bum.”

She took a breath before meeting your gaze again. “I was drugged while pregnant and I have no idea what insane plan they went off with but there’s nothing I can do. Wearing a hole in this carpet isn’t going to change anything but drive me to knock you out.” She released your arms, “I’m sorry but it’s true.”

With a deep breath in, you slipped your mobile into your pocket and stretched your stiff fingers. “I just have this feeling that everything is going to change again. And I was just… things were finally...” You walked over to the couch and dropped onto the seat with a heavy sigh.

“You think I don’t feel responsible for this? I could have ended all of this a long time ago but I wanted a real life. I should’ve finished the job before I went under but I didn’t think I’d get another chance.”

You studied her as she spoke with her hand rubbing her stomach. “Mary.” Her gaze slid to you as she sat down on the other end of the couch, “this isn’t…” You sighed and closed your eyes. “Lady Smallwood put him on the case. You just happened to be in the wrong place to do the right thing at the wrong time.” You opened your eyes and met her gaze, “I’m still livid about the decision you made… but he needs to be stopped. You weren’t wrong on that.” She leaned over and grabbed your hand. “I don’t want you under any more stress than I’m sure you already are.” You glanced down at her stomach, “I’ll try to keep it together for her.”

She nodded and a tear ran down her cheek, “we’ll both keep it together because we know those two always beat the odds.” She smiled.

“Yeah.” But you didn’t feel so sure this time. Not with Magnussen involved.

An agonizingly slow hour passed and then the thrumming of approaching helicopter blades had you and Mary shedding that excess energy as you raced out the door. The helicopter set down just outside of the back yard and John stepped off. You waited to see Sherlock’s head of curls whipping around and every second that passed without that image, your heart sank further.

Mary had rushed to John and hugged him. You stood frozen to the spot as the pit in your stomach churned and turned acidic when John walked toward you with his head down then hugged you far too tightly. The helicopter powered down and you glanced over but still, no one else emerged.

Once the racket of the helicopter died out, John pulled away. “We need to talk.” You searched his face with your lungs screaming. He shook his head, “no. He’s fine... physically.” He tilted his head toward the door, “let’s take this inside.”

“John.” You whispered but he shook his head and took your arm then gestured toward the house with his free hand.

You walked to the door with every inch of your body going numb. Sherlock was alive but something was very wrong. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes stood at the door and let the three of you pass before they closed it and followed you into the living room.

Mrs. Holmes asked if anyone needed a drink but everyone shook their heads. You sat in the chair closest to the dying embers of the fire and stared at John as he sat on the couch and went through what happened inside Appledore, from the film of Sherlock pulling him from the fire to the empty vault room where Magnussen went to his mind palace.

“Where is Sherlock?” Mrs. Holmes finally asked what you were screaming over and over in your head.

John worked his jaw before he finally met your gaze, “Magnussen thought he’d flip Sherlock’s plan and get us arrested for trying to sell state secrets.” Mrs. Holmes scoffed but John kept your gaze, concern seeping from his every pore. “He told Sherlock that he couldn’t be a hero and then threatened you.”

Mary stiffened beside him and you knew she felt John holding back as well. “What did he say?”

John dropped his gaze and clenched his jaw. “He alluded to getting to know you more intimately and…”

You smacked the arm of the chair, “for fuck’s sake, John, just say it!”

He looked up at you and shock shook his control. The sharp anger, fear, and sadness that flashed across his features only twisted the knife in your chest. He tamed it again but couldn't quite lock down the simmering rage as he spoke, “that little Willie would do better being raised by a firm hand.”

Mrs. Holmes gasped but your gaze stayed riveted on John. Magnussen could've played dirtier than that, had the old man really thought he could break Sherlock with some empty threat? Sherlock had to know you would never allow any of that but John wasn't telling everything from their encounter, maybe there was something else that rattled him and that was just the final push. “What did he do?”

John didn't even blink and the shock and just a slight bit of awe simmered just below the surface. “Sherlock took my gun and shot him. Then he told me to give his love to Mary.” His gaze slid to her, “that she was safe now.” His full attention returned to you, “and to tell you that you wouldn’t have to fear your worst nightmare.” You let out the breath you’d been holding and felt the tears welling in your eyes as you dropped your gaze. “He’s finally dead, y/n.”

The room was too silent. What you would give for the ticking of the clock, the crackle of the fire, or the sound of his violin. Your stomach churned again and you jumped up from your seat heading for the door.

“Y/n.” John blocked your path, “Mycroft will figure something out.”

You stared into John’s eyes, “he’s not the only one fighting for Sherlock.” You turned to Mrs. Holmes, “you’ll watch him for me? I’ll be back tomorrow. They’ll want to deal with this quickly.”

She nodded but you could see the fear and worry she was barely concealing. “Don’t you worry, dear.”

You made your way to Will’s room and pulled out your phone to send a text to Mycroft but there was already one from him. _The helicopter’s waiting for you._

~~

You rushed through the building until you made it outside of Mycroft’s office. Anthea led you to another room where four men were in a heated discussion and Mycroft stood to the side observing without giving any thought of his own away. He glanced your way as you walked in and gave you a small nod before falling back behind his all business mask.

You found a seat and listened quietly, studying each man’s reaction to every argument. They were waiting for someone and you had a feeling you knew exactly who that was.

Mycroft walked over and set a cup of tea down in front of you. You smiled in thanks as you lifted it to your lips and waited for him to talk. He sat next to you and spoke with a low voice only you could hear. “Lady Smallwood will be overseeing the sentence.”

“She wanted…” Mycroft lifted his finger and you stopped.

“She will in no way favor either side.” His face was mostly shielded as usual except for the small smirk. You were about to ask what he meant when the door opened again and a suited man called for the council. Mycroft stood and waited for you, “you will stay by my side but kindly keep your mouth shut.”

You followed Mycroft’s instruction throwing glances his way the entire route to a conference room near the center of the building.

The large windows overlooked the courtyard that connected different wings of the building and even at this early hour of dawn, there were people bustling around. Even at night, the lighting in that courtyard gave an artificial day to help those who worked all hours but this morning you wanted darkness. You didn't want to see people going about their day as if a tragedy wasn't about to be carried out in front of you. You knew Lady Smallwood hated Magnussen but she was a leader and would need to be seen as one who didn't give leniency just because she hated the victim. She was a woman and would ultimately be viewed as weaker for making such a decision and you felt sick to your stomach knowing it was true for every man in that room except for Mycroft.

Lady Smallwood took a seat at the table and the men followed. You sat beside Mycroft as she glanced at you then opened the file in front of her. She began by reading the contents that stated what happened from the government’s viewpoint meaning from Mycroft and the men that took the house then Sherlock’s and John’s separate statements.

You kept quiet with the pen poised over the pad of paper in front of you as Mycroft asked while the arguments went around and around. You couldn't believe the men in the room that didn't want to even bring up Magnussen’s crimes. You studied the man that pushed life incarceration and you couldn't help but wonder why he hated Sherlock so much.

A soft cracking redirected your attention to the pen in your hand and you loosened your grip. Mycroft stood from the table and called for a short five-minute break glancing between the two men who became quite heated during the discussion. He leaned down to you and whispered, “come with me.”

You stood with a glance at Lady Smallwood but kept your tongue as you followed him out. He escorted you to an empty nearby room and once he closed the door, it was as if everything you had been holding together finally snapped. You whispered furiously as you turned on him, “you know we can't let him do this. We can't let them do this! Lady Smallwood hired him! Magnussen threatened everyone in that room!”

He didn’t show even the slightest bit of surprise. “You need to keep yourself together.”

You stabbed a finger into his chest, his all knowing act infuriating you more. “And you need to step up! We both know the time he’s already spent in that damn cell is dangerous! He was protecting us, you included!”

He walked to the other side of the room toward the large window that looked out over the well-manicured grounds. He was quiet for a minute and you tried to steady yourself. He was right in a way, you had to stay in control. You took a calming breath but didn't dare close your eyes because you knew what you would see. You walked over to his side and looked out seeking the serenity the grounds were designed for.

Mycroft turned away from the window and faced you. You threw a glance his way before turning toward him slowly. His face while still guarded held an openness he rarely showed. He squeezed your upper arms and in a way, once again, he was the only thing keeping you from falling over. “We both know you're his favorite addiction.”

You sucked in a breath as you gazed into his eyes, “and we both know that out of everyone, you love him the most. But what I can't work out is when you're trying to make up for your childhood mistakes and when you are actually trying to help your brother.”

He frowned, glancing down at your legs. He let go and took a step back. “You should know most times those two are one in the same.” He glanced away before continuing, “I won't let this go as they plan. I'm not a fan of wading through the field but I will do it again. I've always been there for him and that won't change.” You sighed and dropped your head. Mycroft surprised you by wrapping you in a tight hug then he whispered, “besides, what would Christmas dinners be like without him? I'd be miserable.”

You choked out a cry of surprise pushing against his chest. “You son of a bitch! You had this plan before that meeting ever took place.”

“And you'd probably never speak to me in such a way again. How dull.” He smirked as he stepped back running a hand down his jacket. “Sherlock will be making a surprise visit to the flat tonight to pack a few essentials. It may take a few hours but I can't give you much more than that.”

You studied him for a moment, even though he was back in business mode there was a light in his eyes almost as if he were smiling. “Thank you.” He acknowledged it with a curt nod. “I’m not an addiction. I'm a connection. The only thing that can replace his need for drugs are meaningful relationships. I've told you that.”

He looked at you with that smug smile. “Yes, you have. Except my dear brother doesn't just use them to fill the holes in his life.”

You frowned and looked away, “I know.”

“Now that’s settled, can we go back in there without any more outbursts?”

“I didn't say a word.”

His brow rose, “you didn't have to.”

You turned to the window and crossed your arms more for the comfort than to hide anything. “I don't have to go back in. You could say you gave me some errand to run. I don't care what they think of me.”

His hand touched your shoulder. “I do. You can do this. You know this isn't the end for him. I give you my word.”

You glanced at his hand as he pulled it away then looked at him over your shoulder, “thank you.”

He smirked, “don't thank me just yet. The road is far from smooth.”

A soft knock came to the door that Mycroft seemed to expect. He walked over and opened it. “Ah, Victoria.”

The redheaded agent you remembered from a few debriefings you observed rolled her eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you it's Vic?”

“Victoria is your given name and the one on your identification.”

She turned to you, her hazel eyes full of concern as she flashed a sympathetic smile. “Hey, how are you doing?”

You frowned, “what do you mean?”

She snapped at Mycroft, “you didn't tell her?”

Mycroft glanced back at you before walking into the hallway. “We have somewhere to be.”

You walked over to the door and Vic waited for you to pass her before falling into step beside you. She leaned in and whispered, “he’s had me watching the three of you for months. Back and forth. Seriously, how are you doing?”

You glanced at her, recalling the impressive agent and well-balanced woman you had cleared for duty every time. “I'm trying to keep it together instead of ripping someone’s head off.”

She chuckled softly, “you and me both, except I prefer my rifle. It's much cleaner and less of a hassle.”

You tossed her another look as Mycroft waited for the two of you to step inside the conference room before shutting the door and recommencing the meeting. Vic took his seat as Mycroft walked over to the windows. You could see it in his mannerisms and his face, he was battle ready as Sherlock called it and he had everything in control. You didn't understand why he brought Vic in but you knew him well enough that it made sense to him and he would only let you in when he felt ready.

Luckily for you, Vic had her own moral code and even though she worked for Mycroft, it didn't mean she followed his every demand. She was very good at her job, that you knew for sure because you had no idea that someone had been watching you for months. It both comforted and annoyed you. She passed you a note with ‘I’m here for you’ in a slightly slanted print. You gave her a small smile then shoved all the clamoring thoughts away and focused on Mycroft wanting to gain as much insight as possible.

~~

Sherlock was buttoning up a fresh shirt in front of the crib looking down at Will sleeping, “I noticed you didn’t bring back all your bags.”

“We haven’t planned to leave your parents yet. My assignment isn't finished so I'm still basically safe housed.”

“He seems to be more helpful than he used to.”

You glanced at the clock and knew time was running short. Your stomach twisted as you pressed your forehead against Sherlock’s back. He turned around and ran his fingers through your hair. You slipped your arms around him breathing him in. “John told me what he said.”

“I burned it down.”

You squeezed him, “you may not be a hero in your mind and I know ‘heroes don't exist’ but you will always be a hero to Will.” You looked up into his eyes and they were already changing. You could see the shutters closing as he prepared for what lay ahead or maybe just the goodbye. He hated goodbyes just like you did, maybe more. “And me. Heros are personal, everyone has their own and for us, that's you. You fight for what's right no matter who that goes against. I couldn't ask for anything better for Will.”

“I don't know. I think John would be an excellent role model.”

“Yes, uncle John will always be a role model for him but you will always be his hero, flaws and all.”

He leaned down, “I've learned when to keep my mouth shut.” His lips pressed against yours with such a small amount of pressure, it almost stung.

When he began to pull back, you grabbed the back of his head and kissed him hard. You held him close when you broke the kiss, “this is not goodbye.” The look in his eyes made your throat begin to close but you cleared it quickly. “Sherlock, I need you to listen to me. I know love can be a destructive force, I'm practically a poster child for that but the emotions that create love can also bring focus, help sharpen the picture, and I never knock down a reason to keep fighting. The force that can crush you is the same one that can build you back up.” His brow furrowed and you sighed, “I'm rambling.” You pressed your lips to his in a soft kiss then pulled back. “You will come back. I won't make you promise because I know you will.”

He gave you that soft, sad smile. “Mycroft’s never wrong.”

You brushed your hand across his cheek then down his jaw, the slight stubble lightly scratching your palm. “Mycroft loves to push you to do better but he won't leave you out there. He showed up before and he will always show up. Just keep your head, you've outsmarted plenty of men who thought they were geniuses.” You dropped your gaze and your hand to his chest. “This is just another game.”

He held your face in his hands and tilted your head back to look up at him. His eyes flicked back and forth between yours, “Y/n, I…”

“Don't you dare.” His brow rose, “I've told you before I know. I don't need those words when you show....”

He cut you off with another kiss. “I just wanted to make sure you weren't pregnant.”

You barked out a laugh and covered your mouth glancing at the crib. “Hilarious.”

Voices carried from the front of the flat and you looked toward the closed bedroom door not remembering when that happened. Sherlock wrapped his arms around you and squeezed again before whispering in your ear. “Of all the things I never thought were important, you broke my view of love and rebuilt something stronger.”

You sucked in a breath and closed your eyes pressing your cheek into his chest. “God damn it, Holmes.” His chest rumbled against your face and you smiled.

“Silly superstition?”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft called from the kitchen.

You pulled back and grabbed his coat before helping him put it on. “Some superstitions are worth it. Take lucky charms for instance, studies have shown that the idea that we have something higher than ourselves working with us or for us raises confidence, increases optimism, and helps us keep going. It doesn't matter whether the charm is real or not, if we believe in it, it can be a powerful psychological switch that increases our chances of success.” You smoothed your hands over his shoulders and down his back.

He turned and gazed down at you with a smirk as he brushed his fingers over your cheek before grasping your face again. “A kiss for luck then.” He leaned down and captured your mouth in a searing kiss. He pulled back then a soft triple tap snapped your heads toward the door.

You walked to the door and opened it finding Mycroft. “He’s ready.”

Mycroft’s brow rose as he looked at Sherlock. “Brother mine, I do believe you’re glowing.”

Sherlock was leaning over the crib and brushed his hand over Will’s hair before he straightened and strode out of the room. “Shut up.”

You followed them to the door of the flat and Mycroft glanced back at you. “Will you be showing up for take-off?”

“I don't know. We might but I don't think we’ll get out of the car.”

Sherlock nodded, his gaze lingering on your lips. “I’ll see you later.”

“You're damn straight.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and walked down the stairs. Sherlock followed his brother down with a single backward glance as you watched them go from the door.

Mycroft hadn't pulled any punches. He said he'd only be able to get you a few hours and he kept his word. He promised you that this wouldn’t be the end, but every touch of Sherlock’s hands felt like a goodbye. You still ached and felt a little high because Sherlock wanted to make you feel everything. He made sure you could never forget tonight and you hoped you’d done a little of that for him.

Once he walked through the door earlier tonight, you wanted him fast and hard, but you couldn't stop thinking about him leaving. He talked to Will about going away for a while and then read a book for him. You watched them with your heart breaking as Will rested his head of curls against Sherlock’s chest, Will’s eyelids falling lower every minute until he was out. Sherlock carried him to the crib and laid him gently down, pulled the blanket over him, and then turned to you watching from the door.  

The need to take him flared again and you practically attacked him, shoving him to the bed and climbing on top of him. But Sherlock, ever the great dance partner, knew your moves and countered. Each time you tried to rush the tempo, change a step, or force the beat, he held you back; his hands strong and sure guiding to the rhythm you both knew so well but slower, more time spent in each part of the dance.

It didn't take long to fall under the spell his hands and mouth could weave. You stopped fighting what he was creating and surrendered yourself to it. Every sweep of his hand, every touch of his lips, every single taste had a hint of sadness to it with this need to remember as he brought you to the brink and back before sending you over again.

There was a time in your life when you despised the phrase ‘making love’ because it made the act out to be this fairy tale that it wasn't in real life. It was messy and full of fumbling while in time good partners could learn the movements, anticipate and read the need to move, change, and find the sweet spot, but the act was always so much more complicated or mundane. But that night, you understood where the phrase came from.

It wasn't about the movements or the act itself. The connection between you was a live wire and every touch, thrust, and kiss seemed amplified by it. Maybe it was just in your head, the knowledge that it could be the last time gave it a surreal intimacy. It was just you and Sherlock sealing something ancient and making sure you could never forget. You stretched a few hours into what felt like a lifetime and maybe it was sentiment or the heightened emotions from what you both knew was coming, but all that mattered was the connection and the electricity that rushed through your veins.

You stood in the doorway with your arms wrapped around your waist gazing at the stairs still feeling his hands on your skin as the door finally closed and he was gone. You closed your eyes and prayed that he had enough to think about to get him through the weekend in solitary confinement. You still thought it was the worst idea but even Mycroft couldn't take it off the table. Then there were at least six months in deep cover to get through.

You walked back to the bedroom and lifted Will from his crib carrying him over to the bed with you. The only way you’d be able to sleep tonight would be by his side.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One line borrowed from The Abominable Bride in BOLD.

Sherlock pulled his coat on as he jogged down the stairs of the aircraft scanning the tarmac for the car she was in earlier. “Where is she?”

Mary stared at him as she got to the bottom of the stairs and Sherlock spun around, “is this another drug induced…”

Sherlock finished his sweep of the tarmac and scoffed as he looked up the stairs where John just stepped out of the plane, “where is she? Why isn't she here?”

John answered as he walked down, “she left before you even took off. She needed to grab something from the flat before heading back to your parents.”

“And you didn’t stop her?” Sherlock spun on his heel and strode over to the car John and Mary arrived in as they hustled behind him. 

 **“Sherlock, hang on, explain.”**  John called as Sherlock jumped into the back seat.

He looked out and snapped, “I’ll explain on the way. Just get in the car. Please.” 

John shared a glance with Mary before he looked over his shoulder and saw Mycroft finally descending the stairs of the plane with his phone pressed to his ear. John turned and watched Mycroft as he strode to his car with his head down fully immersed his conversation without even a look their way.

“John?” Mary called from the front passenger seat. John turned and shook his head at her concern then slipped into the back beside Sherlock who had already started talking about what he had confirmed during his drug fueled mind palace raid.

The car finally stopped at the curb outside 221B and they climbed out, Sherlock rushed to the door and John and Mary hustled across the sidewalk to catch up. Sherlock called her name as he climbed the stairs. John shared another glance with Mary at the bottom of the stairs but after several moments of quiet, John rushed up the last half of the stairway.

John dashed through the open flat door and found Sherlock standing in between their chairs facing the mantle above the fireplace. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock stared at the eight by ten picture standing on the mantle. It was from John’s wedding but there were no photographers present at the time the photograph was taken. He was walking beside Y/n as she carried a sleeping Will through the hall toward her hotel room and the photographer caught him looking at her with an expression that gave far too much away. Sherlock turned the picture over and three letters were written in black marker, **I. O. U.**

“Sherlock,” Mary gasped.

Sherlock turned as she picked a picture up off the floor. Her haunted eyes met Sherlock’s then flicked to John. Sherlock moved to her like a man possessed and she held up the picture, a candid shot of Sherlock with a hole burned through his chest.

Sherlock froze mid-step, spun on his heel, and shouted, “Y/n? Will?” He ran through the kitchen into the bedroom and examined the room. Things were strewn about and he imagined her struggling, fighting with someone but then shook his head and refocused. “No.”

He scanned the room, “she looked for something in a rush. What did she forget?” He looked over the small dresser and thought about the pictures of her parents and the candid picture of him and Will that she took with her everywhere - both were gone. He stood in front of the crib and gripped the rail as he exhaled, looking at the blanket at the bottom of the bed where Will normally kicked it off and then the small pillow with no indent. “Think, focus, she would leave something...” Then he saw it; a yellow piece of paper poking out from under the corner of the pillow and he pushed the pillow to the side. A ripped piece of legal pad paper with her scrawl, _the Langoliers take us all in the end._

John walked into the room with his phone in hand. “Lestrade is on his way.”

Sherlock lifted the small message. “No need.”

“What?! This is serious…”

He spun around and handed him the paper before marching out of the room. “Clever girl.”

John read the slip of paper and followed Sherlock. “What does this mean?”

“An east wind is coming.”

“Sherlock?”

“She was leaving me a message. She saw the pictures and left.”

“But how do you…”

“She knew I would be the only one to understand that.” He smiled, “the game is on.” He strode into the sitting room where Mary was talking with Mrs. Hudson. “Who was in here?”

Mary and Mrs. Hudson looked his way then Mrs. Hudson answered, “I didn't see her but a man from the gas company stopped by to check on a few things. With the goings on up here, it has to be done at least once a year. I do it while you're out.”

“Did you call them?”

“No. They came by since it had been almost a year. He had the records.”

Mary glanced at Sherlock and John stopped at his side. Mrs. Hudson’s eyes widened, “no.” She shook her head, “his ID checked out, I know how to…” but her hand flew to her mouth, “if anything happens.” Her voice hitched and Mary rubbed her arm.

“She’s fine, Martha. She took Will. Believe me, she would've raised hell in here and you would've heard it.”

“You're sure?” She asked Sherlock and he nodded.

“She left a note. She left on her own.”

Mrs. Hudson shook her head, “with all this on the tv, I just…”

Sherlock cut her off. “You saw the tv before the man came?”

She nodded and pointed to the small tv she had on John’s chair, “yes. I was vacuuming and that face took over my program! I heard someone on the stairs when I turned the bloody thing off.”

John frowned as he glanced about the room. “You should give a description to Lestrade.”

“He’s smarter than that, John. He plastered Moriarty’s face all over London.” Sherlock strode over to his chair and plucked the eight by ten photograph off the seat where it had landed. “This man knows how to hide in plain sight and he's an accomplished hacker or he has one in his employ.” Sherlock stared at the picture and let his mind sift through what he thought Moriarty’s plan would be. “Oh, this is more interesting than I expected.”

“Would you care to enlighten us?”

“I'm not as sure as I was before. I need more data.” He walked off into the kitchen as Lestrade came rushing up the stairs.

“What happened to Y/n?”

John walked him over to the mantle and described the scene they found as he picked up the picture of Sherlock with the hole burned in his chest. He looked toward Sherlock’s bedroom but couldn't see him.

“But she’s taken Will somewhere? They left?” Lestrade pulled him back.

“Sherlock found a note in her handwriting. He said it's something only he would have understood from her. He’s sure she left after seeing the pictures.”

“Pictures?” Lestrade asked, “there’s another one?”

John handed him the picture he held and glanced through the kitchen again, “a larger one from the wedding of the three of them. Sherlock has it. The two pictures together tell quite a story.”

“What do you mean?” Lestrade glanced back at Mary and Mrs. Hudson then let his gaze linger in the kitchen before turning his focus back to John.

“In the other picture, Sherlock is looking down at Y/n holding Will and it's the most emotion I believe I've ever seen on his face.”

Lestrade looked down at the photograph in his hand. “This fucking guy… I thought he was dead.”

“He is dead. He blew his brains out.”

“What is all this then?”

“Someone wants us to believe he’s still alive. The only thing for sure is whoever this is he’s after Sherlock. You don’t think Moriarty had planned this? That he predicted Sherlock would survive the fall?” John asked Lestrade.

“How the hell should I know?”

John frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “An east wind is definitely coming.”

Lestrade glanced at John then turned to Mary but she only shrugged.

~~

You had been staying in the picturesque town of Tubingen, Germany for a month now and it was slowly growing on you. The university town was beautiful from the architecture to the Neckar river which was Will’s favorite and the town was big enough to get lost in.

When you first arrived, you were just happy to settle anywhere, the spot didn’t really matter after a month of bouncing around the world. Will had enjoyed the adventure even when he was stuck on multiple planes. You had been lucky because it could have been so much more miserable if Will had been but he surprised you and loved almost every minute of it. Then getting to a place like this, it was almost too good to be true after what you had found.

You had called Mycroft the moment you saw the photograph on the mantle and he had just answered when Will held up the burnt picture and asked you what happened. After telling Will to drop it, you carried him into the bedroom and grabbed the pictures and the book you had borrowed from Ada while you relayed the scene to Mycroft.

He didn’t waste any time and went above and beyond getting you out of the country with a way to survive. He created a secure bank and email account that gave you access to funds and communication along with a temporary mobile that only he knew the number to. He moved you around to make sure no one was following and then told you good luck when you received the last plane ticket to Tubingen. The university town helped you blend in and it was a magnificent place but it wasn’t home.

That part always had a way of flirting across your mind on the best of days. You shook it loose as you walked Will into a small cafe near the campus and ordered a coffee and hot chocolate. After stepping to the side to wait, the phone in your pocket rang and you knelt down beside Will, “do you want to say hi to daddy?”

His eyes lit up and you hit the green button and turned on the speaker phone. “Hi, daddy!”

“Hey.” You forced a soft laugh then turned off the speakerphone and handed the mobile to Will. A prickling on the back of your neck had intensified since the phone rang and you glanced around using your peripheral vision. Something stood out and you turned toward the counter to get a better view. A chill slithered down your back when you saw the same stranger from earlier. Twice in one day. Sherlock’s voice whispered in your head, _the universe is rarely that lazy._

You knelt down to Will and smiled, “can I have a turn?” Will nodded with a small smile but you caught the flick of his eyes to each side. You could never get anything past him these days. You pressed the phone to your ear, “I need to go.”

“What is it?”

“I may have just seen someone I know. On second thought, hold on.” You pulled your earbuds from your pocket and plugged it into your phone then put the bud in your ear before dropping the phone into your pocket. “Just in case I need to give you instructions.”

“Describe him.”

You smiled as the woman handed over your coffee and hot chocolate. You leaned in and whispered to her, “could you call someone? I think the man in the corner is following me.”

Sherlock’s voice whispered in your ear, “good. More eyes on him. Now, what are you going to do?”

You handed Will his hot chocolate then took his other hand before walking him toward a table by the window where you could see the entrance and the hall to the back door beside you. You sat down and Will stuck a straw into his cup. You smirked at Will as you spoke softly into the microphone on the wire. “Thank you peanut gallery, I know what I'm doing.” You pulled out your phone and sent a text to Mycroft.

“I'm blind here, you need to talk to me.”

“Don't make me hang up on you. I need to look normal.” You took a few sips of your coffee and asked Will about his hot chocolate.

His eyes were alert as he answered and looked around. You were proud and yet heartbroken that your son was acting like an operative instead of a small boy.

“What about the man?”

You brought the cup up to your lips, “ordinary. He blends in far too well. I've seen this stranger twice today, maybe three times but I didn't get that good of a look the first time.” You took a few more sips, the heat soothing your throat but did nothing for the adrenaline coursing through your veins. It was not only sharpening your senses but heightening the need to move.

“When did you get this phone?”

“This was my second, so Paris?”

“You need to get rid of it.”

“Not until I know what's going to happen in the next twenty minutes.”

“What? Why?”

“You may need to know where to pick him up if this gets sticky.”

“Y/n.”

“Don't worry.” The man took a table nearby and you saw the woman behind the counter speaking with a gentleman in an apron and glancing toward the man. You stood, “come on, Love. Mama needs to go to the bathroom.”

“Can I bring this?” He asked as he picked up his cup.

“Of course.” He took your hand as you walked into the hallway. “Shhh.” You put your finger to your lips as you passed the bathrooms and Will glanced over his shoulder. You pushed through the back door and checked the alley before walking out.

“Mama?”

You strode toward the street not wanting to stay in the empty alleyway too long. “It's okay. What does mama say about tricky strangers?”

“Bad strangers ask me things they shouldn't or tell me lies. I see it in their eyes.”

You glanced around the corner of the building then walked out and looked down at Will. “What do you mean you see it in their eyes?”

Will pointed ahead, “him. Tricky eyes, Mama.”

You looked up and froze almost bumping into the man from the cafe. You understood Will immediately because the malice he tried to hide was unmistakable. “Sorry.” You laid it on thick with a wave of your hand and rolling your eyes, “I wasn't paying attention.” Sherlock’s muffled curse in your ear reminded you he was still on the phone as you tried to move around the man but his hand grabbed your arm, his fingers digging into your skin.

You glared at him and growled, “can I help you?”

He leaned in close to your face and spoke with a rough german accent. “Come with me and we don’t have to cause scene.”

You let go of Will’s hand and pushed him behind you before slipping your hand into your pocket and gripping your gun while ignoring the noise from your earbud. You narrowed your eyes at him, “If you don’t let go, I will cause a scene.”

It happened so fast, you barely had time to process it. His head pitched to the side just enough to be awkward and then you spotted the red hole beginning to weep in his temple before he crumpled to the ground. You grabbed Will and ran, glancing up at the rooftops across the street. “Don't let go! Just run.”

“Do I need to get a hold of Mycroft?”

“I already texted him. The man’s down. A sniper shot him. Sherlock, I need to get rid of this phone.”

“Stay safe.”

“You too. Wait.” You turned into an alley, squatted down to Will while pulling the phone from your pocket, then put the other earbud in Will’s ear. “Can you say bye? We have to get another phone. This one is bad.”

Will was breathing heavy, his gaze darting between the mouth of the alley and the phone in your hand. Sherlock’s voice was calm and confident as usual. “Will? Be strong for mama. Battle ready.”

Will’s eyes met yours and his lips trembled for a second before he pressed them together. “Battle ready. Trust you.”

You closed your eyes for a second hating what you were seeing and yet knowing it had to be done. The hardest part was not knowing when Will could just be a kid or when he'd get to see his father again.

“That's my boy. Take care of Mama and I’ll see you when I can.”

“Promise.” Will’s voice didn’t even shake.

You were still staring at him, putting on your best smile. “We’ll talk to you when we’re settled.”

“Just be safe.”

You hugged Will as his shoulders began to shake but he stayed silent. “I know. We’ll stay safe, you're the one I worry about.”

Sherlock chuckled, “me? I'm known to be indestructible.”

“Bye for now.” You glanced down at the phone and saw the incoming text from Mycroft. _Compromised_.

You ripped the cord from the phone jack and dropped the phone on the cement then stomped it twice and the screen cracked before going black. You picked the small sim card and the battery from the back and pocketed them then picked up Will. He latched onto you. “Come on, love. Time to go on another adventure.”

You ran out of the other end of the alleyway and a car screeched to a stop in front of you. You reached into your pocket until the familiar red head jumped from the driver's side.

“Vic?”

“What are you waiting for? Get in!” She opened the back door and you helped Will in before sliding in beside him. Just as you shut the door, Vic was pulling the car back onto the road. You noticed the bag in the front seat. “Is that?”

“I saw him this morning. Too much like a spotter so I took the liberty of collecting your things. The rest are in the trunk.”

“Mycroft sent you?”

She glanced into the rear-view mirror, “oh, love.” She grinned, “that's adorable. Tell me you really thought he’d call me off because you were leaving the country?”

“I honestly didn't think about it. I didn't think I'd need a sniper following me around.”

“Not the only thing I do, but good thing you did.” She stopped at a red light and pulled something from her pocket then turned handing the small lollipop to Will with a smile, “hiya, Will. I'm a friend of Uncle Mycroft. He told me to help you protect your mum.”

Will glanced at you and you nodded with a smile. He accepted the lollipop she held out. “Stop the tricky man?”

Her brows furrowed for a split second before she nodded and turned back around. “Sure did. No one touches your mama.”

He frowned as he popped the lollipop in his mouth. “Daddy touch. I touch.” He glanced at you, his small brow scrunching together, “uncle John…”

Vic chuckled, “nah. I mean no one tricky touches your mama. I see to that just like you. You protect your mama, right?”

He straightened his back and held his head high, “battle ready.”

She laughed, “we’ll make a proper agent out of you yet!”

“Don't push it.”

“Aw, come on, mama. You know with your brains and Sherlock's? That kid is gonna be the best damn mind this world has ever seen.”

Will beamed at you and you had to laugh. Even with the adrenaline fading and the idea still stinging that you had left not only the remains of your mobile behind but the small existence you had started to build, there was still a reason to smile. You two were safe and that's all that mattered. Of course, having a trained agent with you was more reassuring than anything else.

“Thank you, Vic.”

She looked into the rear-view mirror and winked, “no sweat. Besides you’re much easier to look at than my last assignment and I like being able to talk to you. It’s nice to come down from the nest every now and then, it’s good for the soul. Especially when there's a smart woman for company.”

You watched her as she drove. Her fiery sunset hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail and her hazel eyes were focused on the road. You wondered how she stayed undetected as such a beautiful woman but you did tend to find beauty in more than appearance. You could practically hear Sherlock scoffing in your ear, _most people see but they do not observe. Anyone trained would know exactly how to fool men or women no matter what they looked like._

Vic was still the same woman you had qualified through three separate debriefings, two of which she had to kill one or more people to get her assignment safely out of harm’s way. She had always been impressive from the first debrief you had worked. She was confident and cool under pressure, completely sure of her purpose, her responsibility, and her skills. She had a measured response of guilt that she had ended a human life but the fact that the men in question were on course to kill the witness she was sworn to protect alleviated any psychological trauma that would prevent her from continuing her duties.  

She lived her life with a passion only those with a strong moral code could but you never thought about how she felt going from assignment to assignment. You had taken to the thought that she preferred it since her file stated her only family died when she was in high school and it would be easier to live through work then go home to an empty house. She had reminded you of Sherlock in a way and yet you had never wondered if she might get lonely.

“I would like that. If you wouldn't be breaking too many rules.”

She grinned and threw a glance to the rear-view mirror, “Mycroft’s a softie when it comes to you.”

“I don't think I ever thought anyone could use that term for him.”

“Another plane, mama?” Will tugged on your shirt and you looked down into his eyes, blown away that you didn't see a trace of the fear that rattled him back in the alleyway.

“What do you say to a train, little agent?”

He puffed his chest up as he jumped in his seat. “A big train?!”

“Totally.”

You chuckled, “I think you just became his best friend.”

“I would be honored.”

Will snuggled into you burying his face before peeking out again with a smile. 

~~

The flat looked so different now that Sherlock was officially gone. The stairs seemed a little darker and the walls colder but your stomach didn't clench up until you spotted the sitting room. Will skipped up the rest of the stairs and into the room, you reached out to stop him but your arms didn't move and your feet were heavier with each step to the door as if every fiber of your being was keeping you from entering what lay past the doorway.

You finally pulled your feet over the threshold and your gaze shot to the mantle. The picture loomed like a giant menacing beacon almost floating up the wall.

“Mama? Why does he hate daddy so much?”

You were frozen solid and yet somehow able to wrench your head toward your son holding the calling card you never wanted him to see. You slapped it out of his hand and it fluttered to ground like a leaf yet made the most horrendous splattering sound once it hit the floor. Dark liquid oozed out of the burnt hole and you grabbed Will’s hand pulling him to the bedroom.

A specialized ring tone for Mycroft rang all around you and you finally found your phone on Will’s pillow. “Mycroft! He's back! I don't know how he did it but…”

“Where are you?”

“At the flat. He left a present for Sherlock but it's us. It's all about us. He knows or he knew...”

“Get out of there now. Westminster. Don't speak to anyone.”

It took a second before the true location for the Westminster code rushed forward. “Okay.”

“Don't do anything stupid.”

You rolled your eyes, “I have Will with me.”

“Yes, do remember that.” You heard the clicking noise but still lifted your hand holding Will’s like you were going to prove it but your hand was empty. Your heart dropped and the window across from you shattered.

You glanced down and there was a hole in your chest that began to darken. You clamped your hand over it and searched the room for Will knowing you needed to make him run with the seconds of consciousness you had left. You turned and found him lying on his side in his crib with his back to you. You touched his shoulder and he fell onto his back with your note to Sherlock shockingly yellow over the crimson red blotch that covered the top half of his sleep shirt. The scream ripped through your throat but there was no sound just like there was no light in your son’s eyes.

 

“Y/n!”

You bolted up throwing your arms wildly to release the hands gripping you. Warm hazel eyes met yours and she held her hands up. “It's okay. We’re on the train and everyone is safe.” You scanned the small bunk room and saw Will sleeping on his back on the bed across from yours. You watched his chest rise and fall as your vision blurred. The image from the nightmare flickering over him like a double exposure picture.

“It’s okay,” Vic whispered as she wrapped her arms around you and held on tight. You clutched onto her as the lump swelled in your throat. “You’re okay. You're both safe. Just breathe for me. Come on.” You opened your mouth and dragged in a breath then sobbed. Her hand brushed through your hair and tilted your head down so you could muffle the cries against her shoulder. “Let it out, love. I won't let anything happen to you two. I give you my word.” 

You closed your mouth swallowing the cries, your shoulders and chest shook with the force of keeping it silent but Vic never let up rubbing your back or brushing your hair until you were exhausted. You pulled back and apologized for the state of her shirt.

She brushed your hair off your face with a smile and shook her head, “nothing to worry about.” You looked over her shoulder at Will. “The nightmares are to be expected.” She whispered.

You met her eyes, “it wasn’t Germany. It was Baker Street… the day we left. Some things were the same but others were…”

“I'm sorry. Those are the worst.” She leaned down and grabbed a water bottle from the floor before opening it and handing it to you.

You sipped from the bottle trying to erase the image still haunting you. “Yeah.”

“Maybe we could watch something to help get your mind off it. Cartoons or a good comedy always help me.” She climbed up the ladder and searched her bag.

“Cartoons?”

“Oh yeah. Perfect remedy. Anything that makes you laugh really.” She came back with her laptop and two sets of ear bud headphones, “I have some comedy movies downloaded on here too. You want to take a look?”

You smiled as she sat on your bed and booted up the computer. “Thank you.” But the words didn't seem like enough.

She grinned, “how do you feel about acapella?”

 


	19. Chapter 19

The sun was warm through the window of the taxi weaving through the quiet streets of Killarney, Ireland. The cabbie was taking the scenic route from the library to your cottage but you didn’t mind, any distraction from what you found at the library would do at this point.

It had been three months since you settled in the small town and this time no one knew where you were. Mycroft had seen to it. Now, you only communicated with him through your secure email or Vic’s uplink. Mycroft promised to explain to Sherlock and John but you wondered how much he had actually told them.

You hadn’t spoken to them in four months, four months and a day to be exact since your last day in Germany. Every time you wanted to hear their voices, you reminded yourself how close of a call it had been. If Mycroft hadn’t sent Vic in to watch you, you didn’t like to think about what would’ve happened that day.

Vic had kept her distance, for the most part, to keep a clear eye until a month ago when she found a place across the street from you. You had played the part of new neighbors but with her look and her accent, you didn’t have to act much. She was the Dublin girl needing a slower, more quiet lifestyle and her accent was so spot on even you questioned if she had grown up in Dublin. It was the first time you had seen her at work and it was breathtaking.

Shoving the thoughts away before they once again spiraled into dark territory, you told the cab driver to drop you off at the next street. You could enjoy some of the nice weather and walking always helped clear an over occupied mind.

You strolled down the street with Will skipping by your side, the familiar sight of his backpack bouncing against his back with his brown stuffed dog’s head poking out the top. Lorcan the brave had been his constant companion since you gave it to him on his birthday.

Will had approached three without much fanfare. He asked to talk to daddy and uncle John and hadn’t complained much when you told him it wasn’t safe yet. It broke your heart to take such simple things away from him especially when he was trying to be so tough.

He started having nightmares not long after you settled in Ireland and everything seemed harder. He wasn’t sleeping well then he began withdrawing and not eating. Vic had tried to help as much as she could by sneaking over at night but it wasn’t enough. He had opened up to you a few nights before his birthday about the nightmares of the tricky men coming for you and Sherlock and leaving him all alone. Something about the way he said it struck a memory of Sherlock telling you about a dog he had as a child- his first friend and protector from the east wind, Redbeard. You couldn’t bare to leave a real dog behind if you had to run at a moments notice, so you settled on the next best thing.

On his birthday you took him to his favorite spot beside the small park near the house that overlooked Lough Leane lake. Will loved the water even more here than in Germany. You brought his favorite dinner and cake then Vic showed up with a small present making an exception for his birthday. You played until the sun began to set and Vic took her leave.

_Will climbed into in your lap and sat with his head of dark curls against your chest. You handed him the present you carefully hid in the bottom of the basket. He unwrapped it and stared at the soft brown dog._

_“He’s a full bred protector from nightmares. As long as you keep him safe with you, he will keep you safe from the bad people in your dreams.”_

_He looked up at you in awe, “what’s his name?”_

_“I don’t know. He’s been waiting for you to name him.”_

_His little face twisted up in thought as he ran his hands over the stuffed animal’s fur almost as if he was trying to divine a name. He closed his eyes and bit his lip then suddenly gasped, “I know!”_

_“What?”_

_“Lorcan. His name is Lorcan.”_

_“That’s a very interesting name.”_

_“Mr. McCormick talked about Lorcan. A brave soldier fight all enemies, not scared by any toe.”_

_You chuckled remembering the librarian’s old war stories about his friends. “Any foe, that means bad guy. I think it’s perfect.” You brushed the dog’s back. “Hello, Lorcan the brave. Do you swear by all that is sacred and holy to be loyal and good, to honor and defend the young man who calls you friend, and to always be on guard for those who need your strength?”_

_Will giggled then held his head high and straightened his arm out and lowered it slowly until his fingers gently tapped each of the dog’s soft shoulders. “Lorcan the brave, for now and always.” Then he hugged the dog to his chest and turned around in your lap shoving his face into you. “Thank you, Mama.”_

_He didn’t seem like a three-year-old but then he always seemed older than his age._

 

Lorcan the brave had lived up to his namesake and even helped you on days like today. You chuckled at his nodding head and flopping ears and everything, even the article you found while perusing the London newspapers at the library was forgotten for a moment. That bouncing little dog was beginning to become your talisman now too, but Lorcan couldn’t erase the piece of paper burning a hole in your back.

You didn’t even read the whole article before hitting print and shoving the page in your bag and yet you knew what it would entail. It was another sniper victim in London and the name had stood out. It didn’t take long to link the first to one of John and Sherlock’s old cases. You wondered if Sherlock had put it together yet. He had been in the paper a few times with other solved cases so it definitely wasn’t locking him up but you had a feeling it wouldn’t have escaped his attention.

When you got inside your small cottage, you walked to the east facing living room wall, pulled the print out from your bag and pinned it next to the last story you found. There were five long range sniper victims with no witnesses or leads now. The wall had become quite cluttered recently between the news articles, post-its, and your own notes. You stepped back to get a better look.  

“A new puzzle piece?” Will walked up next to you and stared at the wall. You looked down and watched as he squinted and held Lorcan to his chest petting it gently.

You turned back to the wall. “I think so.”

He climbed up on the small couch against the wall and touched the picture of John and Mary. “Uncle John.”

“Yes, love.”

You glanced at the circle of pictures that you had added to the list to keep the faces fresh in Will’s mind and part of you wondered if maybe Will would see something you didn’t. You never put it past his small yet brilliant mind.

At the top, you had a picture of Sherlock with Will and you directly under it then a circle of post-its and their corresponding pictures: John and Mary, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, Mrs. Hudson, Greg, and Molly. You had added a picture of you and Will at the lake to complete the circle. A little to the side was a post it and picture of Mycroft and beside him, a single post it with The Woman. You couldn’t keep her out of it since Moriarty had to know that Sherlock respected her. If he had planned this before he killed himself, anyone could be a part of whatever was coming. The sniper victims were just the beginning. He was merely drawing Sherlock in with them or at least that’s the only theory you had at the moment.

“I watch telly?”

You smiled, “Sure. I’ll just be a couple more minutes, okay?”

He nodded and you watched him skip over to the small television before turning back to the wall.

Moriarty wanting Sherlock dead had always baffled you and you had brushed it off as the insane being insane but now it was back in play. Could he have possibly known Sherlock would find a way to fake his death? Could it have been part of his plan all along? It was ambitious as hell but you couldn’t put it past him. Moriarty had surprised you with the way he could pull things off with immaculate planning. Even in death he could haunt Sherlock’s mind, he didn’t get the nightmares often but he still had them, so did you. If Moriarty found someone to trust enough to play out his little game and bring him back, it could be a bloody nightmare. In fact, it already was.

Moriarty got himself a Watson. You grabbed a post-it and wrote Moriarty then placed it underneath the sniper articles. On another small yellow square, you wrote his Watson and placed it next to Moriarty.

Why had he waited so long and why even start when he did? Was it because Sherlock had killed Magnussen? He would be gone if he didn’t start the game when did, could it be possible he wasn’t completely ready, that Sherlock’s actions forced his hand? But what was his end game?

“What is the god damn endgame?”

~~

Sherlock was stretched out on the couch with his fingers steepled and pressed to his chin. The wall was covered with the current cases but it was the map with the red push pins that dominated the middle that he was currently mulling over. There wasn’t much to it but that was why it was so frustrating. The location, the victim, and the cause of death were the only facts they had on the sniper case and the shooter had been quiet for almost a month.  

There was a knock at the door, John stood from his chair and walked over with a glance at Sherlock. He opened the door and Lestrade stood there, his expression controlled. “Greg, come in.”

“John? Shouldn’t you…”

“I came over to check on this one. Mary insisted.” John waved him forward.

Lestrade shoved his hands in his coat pockets and walked inside. He glanced at Sherlock then raised his brow to John. “Can he hear us in his mind palace?”

“I’m not in…” Sherlock sighed and sat up, “what is it?”

Lestrade cleared his throat glancing between the two men and Sherlock studied him. “There’s… well, we’ve found something. Molly wanted to wait until we get the dental records but…”

John went rigid, “just say it.”

“When was the last time you spoke with y/n?”

John glanced at Sherlock and shook his head. Sherlock stood from the couch. “It’s been a while, why?”

“A body was found and I didn’t want you to hear about it on the news. I don’t know how it got out but…”

“What?”

“A boy that matches…”

Sherlock strode out of the flat without a word and John followed him down the stairs, “Sherlock!”

Lestrade trailed behind them.

“I’m going to let Molly know it’s not Will.”

“How do you…”

“I do.” Sherlock snapped as he threw on his coat and walked out letting the front door close behind him.

John pulled on his coat and looked at Lestrade. “He shouldn’t be going in there.”

He shrugged, “I didn’t even want to be here. I wanted to keep this quiet until we get the records back but the press got wind of it and they’re running the story. I wasn’t going to let you two hear about it from them. But it's…” He shook his head, “ I couldn’t tell.”

John frowned as he pushed through the front door and found Sherlock sitting in Lestrade’s car. His brow rose as he turned and found a similar expression on Lestrade’s face. “Yeah. This is going well.”

Lestrade and John got in the car and were quiet the whole ride to Bart’s. John watched Sherlock while they moved through the halls but stopped him before he could enter the morgue. John lowered his voice, “you shouldn’t go in there. Let me check.”

Sherlock frowned, “why?”

“Seriously?”

“Is there something you’re trying to tell me because…”

John clenched his jaw, “just wait for me to check.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, “no. You should wait here since you raised him from birth.”

“He is your son!” John whispered furiously.

Sherlock spat, “that changes nothing!”

John's control broke and he shouted, “yes, it does!” He took a breath and lowered his voice again, “I know you and I may not understand you as well as she did but I saw you with her, I’ve seen the relationship the two of you shared and if there is anything, anything that could tear you down, it would be her destruction. Will was everything and we both know it, so try to tell me again why it wouldn’t be any different to you if the child, _your child_ , was lying in that cold room. You can play the sociopath card all damn day but you can’t fool me. You may not believe in love, but Y/n and Will were it for you! No matter how many times you deny it!”

Sherlock’s hands had curled so tight his knuckles were white. “And you loved them. They were family, even closer than your own so don’t tell me I shouldn’t be the one…”

“Fine.” John snapped.

“Fine.”

Lestrade stood to the side watching the face off. He knew things had been tense recently because of the sniper taking out people they had helped but this was a whole different level. Y/n had done a lot for both of them and this was proof that she meant more to them both than they were openly admitting. He cleared his throat. “You can both go in.”

Their heads jerked in his direction. “Obviously what we just agreed to.” Sherlock barked before pulling the door open and walking in. John gave Lestrade a tight smile before heading in.

Molly stood with her hands clasped together by the table with a small figure under a white sheet. Sherlock and John strode to the table while Lestrade stayed by the door.

Lestrade shared a glance with Molly before she looked at the two men trying not to fidget. “We don’t have to…”

“Just do it, Molly,” Lestrade sighed.

“I just want to warn you there is a lot of damage to the epidermis…” Sherlock looked up at her and she swallowed thickly before pulling the sheet down. John and Sherlock leaned in, the features were close but the body wasn’t in good condition.

John glanced up and asked, “did you get the dental records back?”

Molly shook her head, “not yet. That’s why I said it could…”

“That’s not him.” Sherlock sighed and backed away from the table, dragging his hands down his face then holding them over his mouth.

“What?” Molly turned to Sherlock.

“His face, it’s not the right length. Check behind his left ear, a small birthmark.” He turned and his head dropped slightly.

Molly lifted the child’s hair and pulled the ear forward. There was nothing and John took an audible breath.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you…”

“It’s okay, Molly.” John stopped her and she covered the child’s face again.

“What was the cause of death?” Sherlock asked.

Sherlock still had his back to her so Molly glanced at John. “We’re still testing but it looks like some kind of poison.”

John turned and Sherlock was already heading out of the room. John thanked Molly as he hurried after Sherlock.

Once they were outside, John finally asked, “what was that about?”

“What?”

“The cause of death?”

“Just a question I needed answered.” Sherlock tucked his chin down into his scarf and shoved his hands in his pockets growing silent.

John shuffled along by his side while eyeing him, “what is it about poison?”

Sherlock glanced at him from the corner of his eye, “something I said to her that no one else could’ve known.”

“Moriarty poisoned before. Why is it relevant?” Sherlock glanced at him but kept moving. “Sherlock.”

“Because I am the poison. From the moment I stepped into her office…” He trailed off as he picked up his pace and John had to stretch his gait to meet him.

“I believe she would refute that rather vehemently.”

“Of course she would because sentiment is…”

“Shut up! Not another word, Sherlock! She is my friend, a very, very good friend and as she told you before I don’t handle people disparaging my friends very well and you are about to hit two. I really don’t want to hurt you.”

Sherlock paused and turned on him. “Why are you even here? You know what I do and what others do because of me so why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be off caring for that baby of yours? Not a very good father dashing off…” John’s fist connected with Sherlock’s jaw with such force that Sherlock stumbled back a few steps.

John strode up to him, “The only reason you feel that hurt, that responsibility is because pain always comes with love. You’re worried, we’re all worried about them, but blaming yourself is not going to solve anything! It’s not sentiment that destroys, it’s loneliness and self-pity. If she were here, she would tell you the same. Wherever she is, you don’t think she’s worried about you? Worried about us? But I can guarantee you that she is not blaming herself for a madman’s actions and she wouldn’t allow you to either. Take that fear, that worry and channel it into the case. You were the one that said love is a much more vicious motivator.”

Sherlock stared wide-eyed at his friend, the anger, fear, and concern that played across his face as he huffed. He could hear her in his head, _be nice to John. He already puts up with a hell of a lot and he hasn’t run away._ "I just said that in one of your stories."

John clenched his jaw. “You, Sherlock Holmes, are the wisest man I know but when it comes to matters of the heart you are just like Will. In some ways, that’s very endearing but in others, it’s infuriating. Just as her death would ruin you, your death would wreck her. I’ve seen it with my own eyes and Will saved her, a part of you saved her. She would pull herself back together for Will but she would never be the same. Hell, she couldn’t even be mad at you after you popped back up in our lives after we had grieved for two years. Just think about her the next time you decide that pain isn’t worth your time.” John stepped back and glanced around before checking his watch. “Will you be able to get home on your own or do I have to accompany you?”

“I’m not a child.” Sherlock scoffed and once again her voice whispered across his mind, _it’s all about perspective, love_. John raised his brow and Sherlock shoved his hands in his coat pockets. _The emotions that create love can also bring focus, sharpen the picture._ Sherlock turned with a shake of his head. “Go home to your family. Give my love to Mary.” Sherlock glanced over his shoulder then walked away with more of her words twisting and turning. _I learned to compartmentalize early on. All you need is control of your mind and that anger, or any emotion really, can’t control you._

 

John watched his friend walk away with his head down and hands tucked in his pockets. He was still worried but less so after seeing the look on Sherlock’s face. If there was anything he learned about his friend in the last year, it was the fact that he didn’t even realize how much he loved the two people he was missing. Sherlock Holmes did in fact love and it just might be the very thing that saves him.

~~

Sherlock slipped easily into Mycroft’s office and walked over to his desk. He checked all the drawers even though it was mostly just for something to do since his brother would never leave anything of importance there, he would never be so careless. Once he checked everything over for any hint of her and came up empty, he sat in the chair looking around the room. As he waited for his brother to return, he wondered where she was, if she was still out of harm’s way.

Mycroft stepped in and froze, hiding his surprise extremely well but Sherlock had learned a thing or two from Y/n. “Hello little brother, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sherlock leaned forward placing his elbows on the desk, “I need to speak with her.”

Mycroft glanced to the side before replying, “you know I don’t know. We haven’t made contact since Germany.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as Mycroft pivoted and spoke to Anthea. “I’m taking a meeting.”

She glanced up looking inside the office and gave Sherlock a smile. “Yes, sir.” She closed the door as Mycroft strolled toward his desk.

“You never let an asset out of your sights, I know the real reason the intel led me to Serbia. It wasn’t just Moriarty’s network on that one.”

Anger flared across his face. “That wasn’t…”

“What was her name? Or was it a he?”

Mycroft’s hand tightened around the handle of his umbrella. “What is it that has you in such a mood?”

“Tell me where they are, or at least how I can contact her.”

Mycroft dropped his head and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “She is a very capable woman and no, I do not know where she is.” He looked at his brother, “we’ve had a bit of a problem here and I won’t compromise their safety because you are having a breakdown. Are you on something?”

Sherlock smacked the desk as he stood, “no! I visited the morgue earlier today to find a child of a certain… similarity.”

“I know.”

Sherlock pivoted on his heel and stared straight at his brother, “it wasn’t him.”

“Of course it wasn’t. I told you she is perfectly capable of surviving when her location remains unknown. Is that a problem?”

Sherlock straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. “No. I needed to make sure you weren’t slipping.”

Mycroft smirked, “oh brother mine, you were never a very good liar.”

“Neither were you, Uncle myk.” Sherlock smiled at the drooping corners of his brother’s mouth. Sherlock turned and headed for the door. “When your asset checks in, be sure to keep me informed.”

“I told you…”

Sherlock grasped the doorknob and looked over his shoulder, “right. You have no idea.” He smirked before pulling open the door and walking out.

Mycroft watched his brother walk away with a familiar tightness in his chest and he cleared his throat. He sat in his chair and ran his hands over the most obvious places for a bug on his desk as he focused on keeping distant memories where they belonged but the tickle of familiarity still pressed upon him. He looked out the open door, his brow furrowing at the theories building in his mind.

He pulled his phone out, opened his email and sent a quick message to Victoria then paused glancing up to the door again before composing another email. He sent a word of warning to Y/n and hoped she was still cooperating with Victoria. He had been worried how these events would affect his brother but nothing sickened him more than something happening to the two most important people to Sherlock. He frowned, the thought of something happening to them didn’t settle well with him either but it was the tendrils of a familiar story that truly caused him unease because it just couldn’t be possible. Not after all this time.

A knock at the door pulled his focus and Anthea stuck her head inside, “you have that council meeting in fifteen, sir. Is there anything you need me to take care of for you?”

Mycroft stood straightening his suit jacket, “family can be exhausting.”

She nodded, “yes, sir. My brother is a handful too.”

“You don’t have a brother.”

“No, sir. I was trying to be sympathetic.”

He frowned, “unnecessary.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The very thought of you” Billie Holiday lyrics in bold and italics

You were sitting on a bench at Will’s favorite park reading the London newspaper you found at the library. While skimming through it for any sign of another sniper victim or any possible link, you stopped on a story of an unidentified three-year-old boy in Bart’s morgue. The boy’s description made your stomach turn and the thought that came with it sickened you further; could this boy’s death have been a deliberate hit at Sherlock?

The case wall appeared when you closed your eyes and you double checked the date of the last sniper victim. It had been too quiet for such a stretch of time, it bothered you. You had started to wonder if the drop off had been another part of the plan. Add up just enough victims to get his attention and then go underground and leave it. The quiet could drive Sherlock crazy especially if there were no clues to dwell on and eventually Scotland Yard would mark it unsolved and file it away. But for Sherlock, there would be no solution; something that rarely happened but bothered him when it did and it would never disappear. He was still solving cases, little stories were in the newspaper every so often, but you knew this one would be digging under his skin.

You felt terrible wishing for another shooting but action can have a reaction, every shooting could have a slip-up, but nothing at all was dangerous. It just didn’t make sense with Moriarty’s past games but maybe that was the point. Could he deliberately be throwing cases at him and then leaving them to grow cold? The silence that punctured a deep wound left to fester until it became toxic and corrupted not only his mind palace but everything.

Thinking of quiet, you glanced up and didn’t see Will. “Will?” You stood from the bench cursing your wandering mind and scanned the area while tamping down on the knee-jerk panic. He was probably just hiding in a tunnel playing a game.

You moved swiftly to the playground equipment and looked in the tunnel with a forced grin, “boo.”

The word bounced around the hollow tube as your heart slammed into your ribcage. Nagging anxiety reared up into full-fledged fear clamping down on your throat. You spun, taking in every inch of the park and raised your voice, “Will!”

Why the hell did you say it’d be a good idea not to have Vic around where it was too open. Just because there hadn’t been any activity and you thought you were safe! This would be the perfect place to ruin you!

The burning in your chest became too much and you finally took a deep breath then forced yourself to concentrate. “Think. Come on.” Your eyes scanned the area again. “No one could’ve grabbed him, he would’ve screamed. No! No! Think! Like Will. He wouldn’t just walk off.” You trailed your gaze over the playground looking as best as you could through the eyes of your son. Then you froze on the sight of the lake beyond the trees. “Will!”

You took off across the playground and burst through the tree line. The air rushed from your lungs when you spotted him sitting on a rock looking at the water.

“Will!” He turned around as you ran to him and knew by the look on his face that he heard the fear in your voice or maybe read it in your eyes. He lifted his arms as you knelt in front of him and crushed him to your chest. “You scared me!”

“I’m sorry. Mama hurt?”

“I couldn’t see you or find you and that scared me so much. You can’t wander off without me, okay?”

He squeezed you with his little arms and his voice cracked, “I’m sorry. I wanna see the water.”

You kissed the top of his head as your heart rate finally started to slow. “I know, love. Just tell me and I’ll go with you, please. I never want to lose you.”

“Okay.”

The news story flashed in your head and you hugged Will a little tighter. “How about we head back to the house and make some dinner? We can have a picnic at the lake.”

He squeezed again, “if you want.”

You kissed his forehead. “Come on, love.” Your gaze was drawn back to the water as you helped him off the rock and a memory of Sherlock flickered on the periphery of your mind. But the further you moved from the water, the further the memory seemed to drift until more pressing matters invaded all thought.

The whole way back to the cottage you itched to call Molly and find out if Sherlock knew about the unidentified boy but it wouldn’t be safe. You needed to use that mobile only in emergencies but maybe you could find a way to get a message to Sherlock, something that let him know you were okay and Will was safe. There were plenty of great hackers involved with MI5 and MI6 but there was one person you had worked with long before you came to England that had blown your mind with her computer skills and she would definitely help you out with no questions asked. You only hoped Charlie still used that old email.

When you got back to the house, you grabbed your laptop and headed into the kitchen. While gathering together an easy dinner to take with you to the lake, you turned on your laptop and logged into your secure email account. You wrote up a quick message without too many details, just letting Charlie know what you needed and then sent it. You felt bad that you hadn’t spoken to her in so long but hoped her offer was still there. You had helped her out of a bind in college and she had always been there for you before when you needed anything but it had been close to ten years since you truly talked. You sent a message to Mycroft as a backup afraid that Charlie didn’t even use that email account anymore.

It had been hard to put the emails out of your mind as you took Will to the lake but once you got there, it was easy to get lost in him. It was a lot like when you went to work and locked everything away but with Will, you didn’t really have to think about it. You ran around and played by the water after eating the sandwiches and fruit from the basket with Lorcan sitting nearby on watch. Then you sat by the water to watch the sunset.

Your gaze was drawn to the lazy undulation of the water. It was a dark blue now that the brilliant red was beginning to recede from the shoreline. Something sparked as you stared down.

 

_“I dreamt of you.” Sherlock was so quiet, you almost didn’t hear him. You rolled onto your side in the bed to look at him. He was laying on his back staring at the ceiling._

_“Are you telling me that you dream?”_

_He turned his head to face you and smiled. “Sometimes.”_

_You studied him, something had bothered you earlier that day and the remnants of it still stuck around. You reached out and touched his chest gently before you flattened your palm over his heart. The strong beat there was always so soothing. “And what, pray tell, was I doing in this dream?”_

_His brow furrowed, “you were…” he cleared his throat and looked back to the ceiling. “It was… I was… frustrated and then suddenly, I was surrounded by the brightest shade of blue water. It transfixed me, called me away from what was… bothering me and calmed me.”_

_“So where was I?”_

_He met your gaze again with such raw emotion in his eyes. “You were the water. I’ve had this dream a few times since I’ve met you. The situation varies as does the shade from the deepest blue to the lightest blue-green, but it’s always calm waters.” His hand came to rest on top of yours._

_“Sherlock.” The trouble from earlier completely melted away as you gazed into his eyes displaying more vulnerability than you ever remembered. You briefly wondered if he had noticed your annoyance earlier but it didn’t matter, none of that nonsense mattered._

_“There will always come a time when I need those calm waters and there are moments when I am afraid I won’t find you.”_

_“Blue, huh? You know red is usually the color of attraction and arousal but you are not most people.” His eyes flicked back and forth between yours. You leaned up against him with a smile, “and I will never be far from you. I know that’s not possible to say but I will always be here for you even if I’m just wandering around in your mind palace.”_

“Does daddy see that?” Will’s voice pulled you back as he shifted in your lap getting comfortable again then sat Lorcan in his.

“See what?” You were still shaking off the haze of the memory.

His small fingers played with your hair as he leaned back against you. “That sun.”

You smiled down into his curious gaze, “yes. He sees the same sun and moon and stars. They’re high above both daddy and us.”

He dropped his gaze and ran a hand down Lorcan’s back. “Daddy come here?”

You brushed your fingers over his cheek and sighed, “I know you miss him and everyone back home. We’re working really hard to get back to them. I promise.”

“Why bad people wanna hurt daddy?”

“Oh, love.” You kissed his forehead and looked him in the eye, “some people are just hurting so badly that they want others to understand them and sometimes those people just don’t understand what they are doing is bad. There’s a lot of reasons why people hurt others but daddy tries his best to make sure that they can’t continue to hurt people.”

“You help them?”

You brushed your hand through his hair, “daddy, Uncle John, Greg, even Nana and Grands, we all try to help anyone that we can. We use our gifts, what we’re really good at to help people. You know my dad used to say that there would always be a balance in the world because good people would never stop trying to help no matter how hard it got. That’s what we do.”

He smiled, “I’m good.”

“I think you are very good. Sometimes the choices may be hard but I believe that you have great people to learn from and you will be the best of us.”

He turned and looked back at the horizon. “We go to Grands for Christmas?”

“I don’t know, love. But we are definitely going to try.”

He glanced up and the doubt in his eyes was just another prick to your heart. “Send a present?”

You smiled, “definitely. Maybe we should send him a picture of us at the lake? I bet he’d really like that.”

“The one on the puzzle?” He nodded, “you look pretty.”

You kissed the top of his head. “Thank you. I think that would be a perfect present.”

~

Will fell asleep the moment his head hit his pillow that night. You walked into the kitchen and pressed the power button on your laptop then made a cup of tea before sitting down at the table. You opened your email and both Charlie and Mycroft had answered. Actually, there were two emails from Mycroft, one that had been sitting in your inbox since yesterday. You had apparently been so set on writing those emails that you hadn’t bothered to check your inbox.

You opened Charlie’s email first and smiled. She was still the amazing nerd you remembered. Not only had she’d given you a quick little update on what she was doing, still trying to save the world,  but she also gave you the address to a website that you could send a message to any number that you wanted and it couldn’t be traced. You sent a quick reply thanking her profusely and promising when you were out of your sticky situation you would get a hold of her for a proper reunion. Then you logged into the website with the user and password that Charlie gave you and navigated to the section she detailed.

The simple black screen had a white bar for the phone number and a white box for the text you wanted to send. You sipped the tea trying to think of something that he would understand but wouldn’t be too long. You never liked to push your luck and though you trusted Charlie implicitly, you still weren’t completely sure that Moriarty or whoever was running his show didn’t have someone near Sherlock or maybe even in British Security near Mycroft listening in. You thought of the unidentified boy and if Sherlock had gone to see if it could be Will. That was the most important.

He had grown so much that this could force back. John, you, and even Mary had coaxed Sherlock so far out of his shell. And Will, Will had shown him there was another option, another chance to be something else too. You’d be damned if you let Moriarty take that away from him. You needed to let him know that you were both safe. Mycroft could tell him over and over but you knew Sherlock, his brother’s word wouldn’t always be enough.

You typed in Sherlock’s mobile number and then clicked on the white box and typed out _‘Legacy safe with me. Dark blue tonight but calm’_. It hit like lightning after you typed it. He recalled your first meeting before and you were sure he’d remember what you had said about kids. The second was just to remind him of that night and at the same time let him know you were thinking about it. You hit send and then opened another one and entered John’s number. _‘JM’s final mark was always psychological. Keep an eye on him for me and give Lil R a kiss too.’_ You sent it then closed the page out and opened Mycroft’s first email.

**The game is getting messy. It’s hitting too close to home. Don’t leave the eye.**

**M**

Sherlock did know and Mycroft was worried about you and Will. Why he had to call Vic the eye you’d never know but then maybe he was starting to suspect someone at the office too.

You closed your eyes and then the laptop as you refocused on the real problem. “What is the god damn endgame?”

~~

Sherlock stood awkwardly in John and Mary’s sitting room as Mary paced back and forth bouncing the shrieking baby. John had sent a text asking him to help Mary but he hadn’t said why or what to do. He stood there staring at her waiting for some instruction but she didn’t seem to even notice he had come in ten minutes prior.

“Mary.” He tried again and she stopped mid-step, her head jerking his way with tired, bloodshot eyes.

She smiled, “oh, Sherlock. Can you take her? I just need a minute.”

He nodded and carefully took the crying baby from her arms and immediately mimicked her movements. He bounced Rosamund up and down, felt her diaper, and tried shushing her in a soft tone. She had strong lungs that was for sure. He glanced around looking for Mary but she was gone. He had exhausted his scant amount of infant care knowledge.

He suddenly thought of Y/n and wondered what she would do. What had she said she’d done with Will when he would cry? Did he ever cry like this? He thought of the steam shower when Will was sick but when he touched the child’s face it didn’t feel overly warm at least not for an infant screaming.

He searched for anything that would work but was coming up horribly blank. It wasn’t a feeling he was particularly fond of but it was an infant! He had started reading through that what to expect in the first year book that John had given him but he hadn’t gotten far before he’d been given an interesting case. It must be sitting on his desk. He glanced around for a copy but all he saw were baby toys and blankets along with the normal decor.

He grabbed a toy and shook it in front of her little scrunched up face, it rattled and she screamed even harder. “Sorry! Sorry!” He dropped the toy and tried the cradled hold in his arms. For a moment, she paused and opened her eyes. He smiled but the reprieve was over and she began wailing. He lifted her up and held her against his chest again, patting her back. He tried talking in the soothing tone Y/n always took with Will when he was tired. “Shhh… it’s okay. You don’t have the brain capacity to be bored yet. What could you possibly be so upset about?”

What he wouldn’t give for Y/n’s expertise. He had been able to help her before but Will’s infection was obvious. What was he supposed to do with a screaming infant with no outward signs to tell him what was wrong?

He heard the door and flushed with relief and guilt. John had called him to help but he had done nothing. John rushed into the room placing the two grocery bags on the floor. “What happened?” He asked as he continued to Sherlock and lifted his arms to take the baby.

“She’s been like this since I got here.” Sherlock handed her over gently and John cradled her against his chest and began swaying side to side while humming in her ear. The change was instantaneous as if he turned down the volume dial hidden beneath her outfit. Then he began to sing and the cries completely died out. Sherlock stared at him in amazement. “But..?”

John’s brow furrowed as he glanced up at him then shook his head turning away as he continued to sing and sway around the room. It was familiar but he had a hard time pinpointing where he knew it.

_**“I’m happy as a queen and foolish though it may seem.”** _

The memory finally sprang forward, a very similar scene of Y/n dancing around the room with Will singing that song. Will was humming along with her as she smiled down swinging him around the sitting room. **_“I’m happy as a queen and foolish, though it may seem, to me that’s everything.”_**

A spasm in his chest squeezed his lungs and he forced a deep breath as he turned away from John with his mind spinning. He shut the memory away, placing it where it belonged in the back room of his mind palace but the damage had already been done. He cleared his throat and focused on regulating his breathing until the tightness released.

“Sherlock, are you okay?”

“Yes.” But he answered too quickly and he knew it. He cleared his throat again as he turned around. “Was there something else you needed help with?”

The baby was asleep against John’s chest and he continued to pat her back gently. His voice stayed low and calm but something crossed his face that had nothing to do with the baby. “That, ah… well, it was the first song that came to me when she had a night like this. Y/n used to sing that to Will all the time when he was younger and… she’s quite fond of it now.” John glanced down and cleared his throat, “thank you for helping Mary.”

Sherlock glanced around but still didn’t see her. “I didn’t do anything.”

John’s brow furrowed. “You showed up and took the baby. That’s doing a lot more than you think. Even mothers get overwhelmed sometimes and just need a chance to breathe. There were a few times I had to force Y/n to leave the flat for some fresh air.”

“Right.” Sherlock stuck his hands in his pockets and dropped his gaze.

“Sherlock?” He looked up at John, “how are you, really?”

“I’m fine. Do I not look fine?”

John watched him for a moment, “truthfully, no. We all miss them. We will get them back. She has a goddaughter to meet.”

Sherlock examined the now peaceful child but his chest only tightened again. He was supposed to be responsible for this child should anything happen to John but the only reason anything would happen to his friend would be him. He was the last person who should be responsible for a child let alone be around one.

“Sherlock?”

He met John’s gaze and despised the worried look in his friend’s eyes. Being worried about him was pointless. If they wanted to worry, they should be worried about being around him. “What?”

“Take your coat off. You’re staying for dinner.” Then John turned and walked down the hall leaving him in the sitting room alone.

Sherlock spun on his heel, grabbed his scarf off the couch, and yanked it on as he strode to the front door. _Alone protects me._ He gripped the doorknob but froze before he could even turn it. He squeezed his eyes shut hearing John’s voice in his head, _we’re no better off with you dashing about on your own. Y/n wouldn’t want you skulking around by yourself. No one wants to see you shut down and I know she wouldn’t let you._

His knuckles whitened on the doorknob and he growled as he shook his head. But then even Mycroft’s voice was playing devil’s advocate against itself. _Caring isn’t an advantage. I was wrong about her and just maybe I was wrong about John Watson but I still don’t agree with your insistence upon friends._

He pulled his scarf off while he turned from the door and made his way back into the flat. He shrugged off his coat as he walked into the sitting room and laid both items over the back of a chair. He strolled toward the kitchen unbuttoning his cuffs and began rolling up his sleeves.

John turned from the fridge with a covered dish in his hand just as Sherlock stepped over the threshold, “casserole or take away?”

Sherlock looked at the dish and grimaced, “I thought you just went to the store?”

John grinned, “improvise then?”

Sherlock nodded and walked over to the cabinets pulling out spices with his mind already on the task at hand.

 

John watched him from the corner of his eye as he placed the casserole dish back into the fridge. He eyed his friend as he moved around his kitchen efficiently. He knew Sherlock was struggling, as any sane man would, but Y/n would be proud of how well he was working through it with only minor pushes and tugs here and there that those who cared about him were able to make.

He thought of y/n alone with Will but shoved it away. He had enough to deal with right in front of him and Y/n wouldn’t want him to worry, in fact she’d probably tell him to sod off and take care of his own business with that smile she could pull out of a hat; the one that said she was rightfully pissed but loved him too much to stay mad.

He shook his head with a full blown smile as he pulled out the fresh ingredients Sherlock loved to work with when he actually cooked because anything worth doing was worth doing well.


	21. Chapter 21

Will sat in front of the small television watching a cartoon while eating cereal and you were on the couch, once again, staring at the case wall. You had started covering it with a bookshelf during the day but this morning you slid it to the side after shuffling into the living room.

Something had been nagging at you the last few days, something that Sherlock had told you about his last conversation with Moriarty before everything unraveled but you couldn’t remember exactly what it was. Something about rogue governments and something else but that was the only part that stuck with you. Was he working with them or was it just because of the key he supposedly had?  You closed your eyes trying to grab the information that seemed to be just beyond your reach.

_Sherlock was lying beside you in bed at Baker Street, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as his hand squeezed yours. He had woken from another nightmare and told you about his last moments with Moriarty on the rooftop. “That was the last thing he told me before he put the gun in his mouth. That I was him and the way he smiled like it was perfect logic...”_

_“He was insane. You admitting you would do anything for your friends probably infuriated him more than you can imagine because he couldn’t understand it. He hated it.”_

_“It was like he was seeing something in…”_

_“Sherlock, he didn’t see a damn thing in you but he was getting inside your head. There’s only one reason he wanted to shake your hand in that moment, to leave a deeper scar, to imprint his final moment in your head so he could live on.”_

_You watched him for a moment but his gaze was still fixed to the ceiling. “He did things like that with his subjects, anything that would make a bigger impact on the person. Some people feel they live on in the things they accomplish, Moriarty believed in that wholeheartedly except his accomplishments weren’t… healthy. You have no idea how many people he almost destroyed before we… and a few that he did. That was his addiction, seeing the power he could wield over another human, the things he could talk them into doing, and sometimes I think he got off on the look of devastation in their eyes while knowing they would never be able to get rid of him. He knew what he was doing to you and that’s what made it worth it for him.”_

_Sherlock rolled onto his side and those intense eyes found yours. “How did you see through him?”_

_You laid your hand on his cheek. “Because I wasn’t focusing on him, I was looking at what he was focusing on. For some reason, he focused on you, whether it was John’s stories or the rumors that he heard about you, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to play a game with you. Maybe he was looking for someone like him or maybe he just wanted to see if he could beat someone that he thought could match his wits.”_

_His gaze trailed down to your hand in his in between you. “Well, he certainly had enough people under him to continue on.”_

_“Do you really think you got them all?”_

_His gaze flicked back up and you could read the conflict, “I want to say yes but if I’m honest, No. I don’t think I found them all. Truthfully, it would be impossible but I got the various heads, the leaders on different strings of the web.”_

“Mama! Go to the library?”

You opened your eyes and stared at the wall, the Moriarty post-it glaring at you. You shook the memory off and smiled down at Will. “You already finished your cereal?”

“Yes.” He lifted the empty bowl. “Sink?”

You nodded, “yup. Then we’ll get dressed and go.”  Will ran off into the kitchen and you stood, your gaze back on the wall waiting for the missing piece to fall into place but the puzzle still remained resolutely unfinished.  

A knock at the door kicked you into action rushing over and pushing the shelf back into place over most of the papers. The knock came again and you recognized the unique triple tap. With a shake of your head and a relieved breath, you opened the door and smiled. “Hello, neighbor.”

Vic held up a small package. “I think I got your mail.”

Stepping back, you waved her inside then shut the door behind her. She turned and handed you the yellow bubble envelope. “Package from M.”

You looked inside, pulled out the two passports and opened them. A current picture of you and Will with random names. “Where does he think we’re going?”

She shrugged. “I think he knows you’ll be going back to London soon.”

“Yeah. Right. Did he know something?”

She rolled her eyes, “like he tells anyone until he’s ready? I've been wondering why they haven't recalled me since there hasn't been any chatter at all but with these…” She glanced down at the passports, “I think I'm here for when you go back.” She didn’t hide the flash of annoyance. “That man’s infuriating need to be so bloody mysterious and controlling is going to get him killed one day.”

You chuckled, “and you haven't even spent a holiday with him. He whines. A lot.”

She smirked, “I'd pay to see that.”

“It would be my pleasure. No payment needed.”

~~

 

Sherlock sat in his chair, his fingers against his chin as he stared off into space. He jumped up and strolled toward his case wall covered in the clues that should lead to solutions. How could not one of them have anything? He shook away the infuriating thought with a growl.

Footsteps, bare with a carefree gait, padded across the kitchen floor and he smiled. He pivoted just enough so he could see her from the corner of his eye. She walked into the room in nothing but his purple dress shirt and sat in John’s chair. She watched him with a soft smile then quirked her eyebrow, “you know you could talk to John.”

He turned and stalked over to her thinking how smart her choice of shirt was, that wasn't his favorite for lack of options after all and the material suited her well. He pressed his hands onto the arms of the chair as he leaned down. “Y/n.”

She tilted her head back with that small grin still curving her mouth. His fingers alighted on her collarbone then made quick work of the few buttons she had clasped to hold the material together. Her right eyebrow lifted. “Would being naked help you concentrate?”

“When doesn't it help me concentrate?”

She raised her hand and snapped her fingers. The material disappeared and they were both standing before the case wall. She tilted her head, “that didn’t make anything more clear for me. How bout you?”

“There’s something here staring me in the face, I know it.”

She stepped up onto the couch, the purple shirt back in place, and leaned in toward one of the articles about the unidentified boys. “Then why aren't you talking it out with John or even Mycroft?”

He glanced at her but shook his head. “No, someone's watching Mycroft. And John’s busy.”

“Ah, yes. Baby Watson. How is the little tyke?” He looked at her, his brow furrowing slightly. She laughed, “don't look at me, we’re in your head.” She looked down and suddenly the Victorian dress she wore in his drug fueled Ricoletti case dream appeared. “You know it wouldn't be half bad if I could actually breathe.” She spun around and the skirt billowed out. When she stopped, she looked up with a wry smile. “Your housekeeper, really?”

“It was all very… It fit. At the time, I think that's the only way you would've been able to stay secret.”

She grinned, fiddling with a dirty white veil. “I do like that I was working with the secret brides but where was Will while I was off galavanting?”

“I don't know, it was a dream. Mrs. Hudson?” He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him.  

“Better yet, how the hell did we keep it a secret from John while he was staying at the flat? Are you jealous of our friendship?”

“What?”

“Moriarty knew about us, he took great pleasure rubbing it in your face talking about the bed we shared but John didn't know. He believed the housekeeper story. Although, that bit in the secret society’s cave about women raising your children… I think John started to catch on.”

“Like I said it was a different time…”

She brushed a few curls off his forehead. “Oh Sherlock, you can admit that there are times you wish you could keep me only to yourself.”

“No. You are your own woman but in that time, it would have been…” he stopped catching her grin. “Why are we arguing about this?”

She pressed her lips to his cheek then lingered so close. “Something's obviously stuck in that dream and you want to shake it loose. I know me hovering at your elbow shrouded in secrecy even from your friends is not how you think so what was it that you gained from that bit of mind spelunking? The Ricolletti case? The women?”

His eyes widened. “The cause. Their cause. You are magnificent!” His arms tightened around her and he captured her lips.

“Sherlock.” John's voice carried up the stairs.

Sherlock frowned and she grinned before pressing another kiss to his cheek. When she pulled back, she was once again naked. “You know John’s never seen me without my clothes, you should probably pop out of your mind palace now.”

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock jerked awake in his chair and stared across at John’s chair. It was empty, of course, but he still searched the room for her.

John stood in the doorway. “Are you okay?”

Sherlock jumped up. “He died for a cause, something much better than…” he turned and stared at the wall, “something still moving into place.”

“You weren't answering your mobile, I thought…” John bent over bracing his hands on his knees. “Christ, you can't do that.”

“He sacrificed himself for something much bigger but what?” Sherlock heard your voice in his head, _he took great pleasure rubbing it in your face._ Sherlock turned and gazed at his chair, in his mind's eye, Moriarty sat there carving the apple. “Rogue governments, intelligence agencies, terrorist cells, he bragged about them all wanting him.” He turned back to the case wall. “Something was building here and they needed time, they needed us distracted. We were too close to the operation. If we weren't so damn focused on Moriarty maybe we would have seen it before.”

“We?”

“Mycroft and I. It's been in motion for a long time. Maybe we pushed them into the next step or maybe they were ready. Mycroft’s been under the impression that someone close to him or around him in the office has been leaking information to someone on the outside and I believe the leak is going straight to Moriarty’s man.” His gaze stopped on one article of an unidentified boy in the morgue then flicked over to one of the sniper shootings. “But who and what is it that they want to accomplish?”

~~

The window held a dark reflection of you and your desk lamp when you glanced up from the file. With a groan, you looked back down but the words on the page blurred and all you could make out was Shelly. You rubbed your eyes and stretched your back.

There was no point looking at the clock, you knew it was far later than you intended to be there. Your soft bed was waiting in your apartment but the couch in the common room would have to do for a few hours of shut-eye if you had that much time left.

You closed the file, put it on top of the five others, scooped them up and tucked them into the crook of your arm as you stood then carried them to the first filing cabinet. You pulled the chain around your neck lifting the key from its safe place close to your heart and unlocked the bottom drawer. While placing the files carefully in their spots, you yawned but a chill slithered up your spine until the back of your neck prickled.

“Y/n, pulling another all nighter?” Jay’s voice sickened you as it always did but an anger flared this time as well.

You closed the drawer and locked it then slipped the key back inside your shirt. You stood and turned, “just heading home.” You kept your eyes down feigning exhaustion because you were wide awake now and you hated looking into his eyes more than you had to.

“Are you sure? I wanted to show you something I think you’d be interested in.”

You tried to move around him without a glance in his direction. “Sorry, I really should get some sleep. Professor Harding...”

He snatched your arm and gripped it tight. “I have to insist. Believe me, this is something you shouldn’t miss.”

You stared at him, half outrage and half shock, “get your hands...”

That revolting smile stretched his lips and his eyes lit up even though they were more pupil than anything else. “Come on now, don’t play coy.” He pulled you from the room with your feet more dragging than walking. The halls seemed familiar yet wrong, corridors lead to corridors that didn’t make sense with the building’s layout until he pushed open double doors that were all too familiar.

The two bright red chairs sat in the middle of the room on the circular platform, a place you had dubbed the altar where he held his so called sessions with his subjects. You searched the four large windows that surrounded the platform, all were dark right now but you knew what truly lay beyond. This late at night it must be empty but during a normal session, the audience of his choosing sat on the other side, some in excitement while others were stricken in horror. His subjects would never know until Jay was ready to turn on the lights for them.

He had released your arm and you began to back away but he grabbed your hands. You tried to jerk away but your limbs were no longer responding. He walked backward toward the chairs pulling you with him. “No one ever gets to me. You know that better than anyone.”

You growled but your face felt funny. “I got to you. I stopped you.”

“Did you?” He glanced over his shoulder and you followed his eye line to a window that lit up revealing your parents talking just past the glass like they had no idea what was happening on the other side of the room. He leaned into you and his breath on your cheek churned your stomach. “Or did I get to you?” Your skin crawled as if his breath alone could infect but you couldn’t pull away. 

The snap of his fingers echoed around the room and the pane of glass burst out as your parents were propelled through it. The scream ripped through your throat like a scalding fire but didn't make a sound.

You bolted up in bed, a cold sweat freezing your skin with every breeze from the open window. Untangling your legs from the sheet, you forced yourself from the bed and closed the window. There was no point trying to go back to sleep. You knew that far too well. When nightmares of Moriarty plagued you, staying in bed was always worse than moving; you needed a distraction, the more complicated the better.

The moon caught your eye but you turned away sharply and left the room. You were only halfway down the hall when you heard the phone buzzing on your nightstand. You rushed back to your bedside with a common hope flaring to mind. A familiar number was on the screen but not the one you hoped. You tried not to vocalize that disappointment as you answered, “when do you sleep?”

Vic’s warm voice was clear and steady. “Want to talk about it?”

You sighed as you slumped onto the bed. “I don't know. Were you peeking in my window or do you have cameras in here now?”

“What would the therapist in you say?”

You looked at the window debating whether you wanted to torture yourself replaying fantasies of being locked away with Sherlock at Baker Street or wasting away the rest of the night with Vic. “You want a drink or are you on duty?”

“I could go for a cuppa.”

“I'll leave the back door open, not that it would stop you.”

“See ya in five.”

You brought the phone with you this time with the quiet hope that Mycroft would finally call you home as you padded to the kitchen. You unlocked the back door then put the kettle on.

Mycroft may drive you absolutely crazy at times but you were going to have to thank him for putting Vic as your tail, bodyguard, whatever he titled it because she had become completely essential to your sanity and a rather close friend. Another person that you let in that you never would have met if not for Sherlock Holmes. He probably wouldn’t believe it if you thanked him but he gave you a family again.

You missed them so much it physically hurt sometimes but for right now, Vic was enough. She would help you get them back and soon because you couldn’t take this much longer. The nightmares were getting worse and becoming more frequent, these months with nothing to add was unearthing past demons that were affecting your waking moments too. You could only imagine what was happening with Sherlock but he was stronger than before and he had friends to watch his back, friends that would help him even if he tried to hide it.

“The kettle is boiling, love.” Vic pulled the kettle off the stove and poured the liquid into the two cups waiting on the counter that you didn’t remember putting out. She gave you that lazy smile. With her hair pulled up into a messy bun, she was still radiant and didn’t look the least bit tired.

“Thanks.”

“So, cards or Cluedo?”

You simply smiled at your friend, thankful once again that she was there.


	22. Chapter 22

It was dark on your small front porch, barely a sliver of moon visible through the swift clouds charging for the east. You sat on the top step with a blanket draped over your legs, a coffee mug half full of brandy within reach beside you, and a flickering candle on the other side. The picture of your parents sitting on top of the London newspaper in your lap felt heavy but you still weren't quite ready to face it yet.

Will was sound asleep in his bed where you left him after holding him longer than usual because of that very newspaper but it wasn't really the newspaper that called for your toughest armor. The article about another unidentified boy unread yet haunting you since you saw it earlier and shoved it in your bag where it stayed until twenty minutes ago when you pulled yourself from Will’s bed and gathered the things you had with you now. With a glance at your watch, you amended that thought, twenty-one minutes.

You listened for a moment leaning back toward the front door you had open just enough but the house was quiet just like the neighborhood that seemed uncommonly silent. You glanced at the candle and pushed it a little farther away to make sure you didn’t end up catching on fire because, at this point, it would be the way things seemed to be going.

Your gaze dropped to the picture of your parents that you grabbed on your way out the door because you wanted them with you. In the picture, your parents had their arms around you smiling brightly into the camera. It was your high school graduation and your future was bright. Just a small town girl with determination and big dreams. You wondered what your parents would think of the decisions you made that lead you here.

You lifted the mug to your lips and took a few sips savoring the heat as the alcohol burned its way down. Wrapping both hands around the mug, you closed your eyes and pictured your mother.

It wasn’t always easy for them either, especially during the trial. You could remember your mom sitting across from you at the small checkered table in the kitchen with your hands wrapped around the cup of hot chocolate. The steam rising and your mother smiling, trying to make everything seem okay even though stress and worry still pulled at her brow. She never wanted you to see it and even though you didn’t understand it at the time, you knew there was something off. Your father had been the most weighed down and you knew now that he felt responsible for the burden on your family. He always hugged you a little tighter and a little longer during those days. You remembered the paralyzing fear you didn’t understand when you would hear them whispering in their room and your father crying. You would never be able to rid yourself of those memories even though they had fogged slightly over the years.

Your mother had been the strongest person you ever knew but those months during the investigation and trial, she was a superhero. You longed to talk to her again and ask her how she did it. You had tried to learn so much from them and yet when they were taken so brutally, there was still so much you had left to ask.

You placed the picture on the porch next to you and smiled as you brushed your fingers down the glass. “I wish I was more like you every day, mama.”

After a few more sips from the mug, you steeled yourself and read the article. Even with the warmth from the slight buzz, every word was like a knife thrust into your chest. Who were these boys? There were no missing person reports that matched them, you had scoured the databases out of guilt needing to see the poor mothers hoping for their child’s safe return. There was probably nothing you could do for them but you couldn't stop. It hadn’t helped knowing no one was looking for them, it hurt a little more.

The tears started quietly, slipping down your face as the newsprint blurred. You took a few more sips from your mug but even the artificial warmth from the brandy couldn't dampen the emotions eating you alive. It had been too long since you’d seen the faces that gave you that extra strength and you were tired of telling Will you didn’t know when he could see his family again. You were beaten down by the fact that one man was keeping you away from the family you had found. If it wasn't for Vic, you would be completely alone.

By the time you downed the rest of the mug, your lungs were already burning because you were trying so hard to keep your sobs silent. You held your breath but nothing could stop it. You pictured Will’s face, the look he gave you the last time he asked to see Daddy and now he expected only to see a picture. You could see the hope dying in his eyes each time he asked and the thought that he’d never see his family again gutted you more than anything.

You pulled the blanket over your face and bunched it up against your mouth as you let go. You purged all the grief, stress, pain, anger, and fear that had built up like a heaviness on your shoulders, on your chest, infusing into your bones until your body could no longer bear it. You tucked your chest down toward your knees further muffling the wails of a tired mother, a haunted lover, and a scared friend. The pain was physical, your entire body ached as the thoughts ran rampant and you cursed yourself for going into hiding.

What if it had all been for nothing? What if it was part of Moriarty’s plan or maybe his plan would play out anyway and all the time spent away from Sherlock and John would have been a waste. Then your mother’s voice, like salve on a searing wound, filled your head overriding the decreasing noise spilling from your mouth, _you’d be surprised by the power of a positive attitude, honey._ You searched for the memory and saw her sitting across the table holding your hand, the worry still visible on her face but her smile had warmed you so much more than the sweet hot chocolate she always gave. Her strength seeping into you little by little as she kept going and kept fighting to keep you in the home they had built.

The sobs finally trailed off. Your head throbbed but everything slowly went back to normal except for the random stuttering breaths and the lingering exhaustion. You looked up waiting for a break in the clouds for a glimpse of that small slice of moon. Even the sight of that light didn’t ease the loneliness and emptiness that gnawed at you more and more as the days went on. Your mother had always been so strong and you were always trying to be more like her, to have her ability to keep going no matter how hard the road got. But it was so much harder to do on your own. What you would give just to hear his voice again.

The thought was like a bolt of lightning, you jumped off the step and ran inside. You opened your laptop and fired it up with shaking hands. You pulled up the website Charlie had given you and signed in then navigated to a page you had looked at but hadn’t tried before. There were instructions, a manual to make an untraceable call with any mobile phone. The text messages had worked so far at least from what Mycroft could see. You weren’t completely sure they were even receiving all of them but it was worth a shot. You needed it.

You rushed around the small house searching for your phone then found it on the floor in Will’s room. You sat back down at the kitchen table and dialed the number from the page then listened as it rang. There was a click and you entered the code which was answered by three beeps and then a dial tone. You dialed the number you knew by heart and held your breath as it began to ring. You counted each one, light headed and chest aching until it finally clicked.

“Hello?”

A quiet cry of joy and relief squeaked out and you covered your mouth. He sounded like he had been sleeping and you could picture him sitting up on the couch in his house coat, his hair messy and his eyes just beginning to focus. You took a stuttering breath in as your eyes swelled with tears once again.

“Hello?” His voice lowered, “y/n?”

You were trying to breathe normally but your body wasn’t complying; another exhale, another whimper. “Sherlock.”

“Tell me you’re alright.” His relief was so clear in his voice. You hung on his every word with your eyes closed pretending he was in the room with you.

“We’re safe but I’m not alright.”

“Y/n.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this. These boys… those boys…”

“Are not your fault.”

“We’ve been in hiding for over a year and he asks for you and John and…” You sucked in a stuttering breath, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called, I just needed to hear your voice.”

“We will solve this.” He sounded so sure even though his voice shook at the end.

“I know. I’m sorry I called you like this. You don’t need this on top of ev…”

“Don't. Please don't. You… you are the strongest woman I have ever known and I… I needed your voice so much more than you know. I know things are... difficult but you are a fighter and a survivor who taught me how to keep going.” He cleared his throat, “someone of rather high intelligence told me once that even the strongest among us break, it’s unavoidable because we’re not single ships. Most of us weren’t wired to sail alone.”

Tears cascaded down as you pressed the phone tighter against your face and wished so much that it was his hand. You let out a watery laugh, “I’m a woman, not a ship.”

“I’ve said that once or twice myself.” You chuckled with another stuttering breath and tried to clear your throat. His voice lowered again, “please don’t ever apologize for calling me, for needing me because there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t… wish I could see your face, or dance with you around the sitting room, or hold you for only a moment. You invade my thinking more times than I’ll admit.” He paused then sighed, “you tend to point out things I don't like to admit to myself.”

The way this man could fill you with such warmth without even a touch, a man that people so often thought couldn’t experience genuine emotion, baffled you. You smiled, “I'm glad I'm still keeping you on your toes.” You closed your eyes picturing your most recent daydream, your voice dropped to a whisper as if voicing the thought would erase the memory, “sometimes I think about having you all to myself, just us in the flat with a bunch of puzzles and games. Sometimes I'd give you a run for your money but with some of the puzzles, I’d just watch you work. The way your brow furrows and jumps, your fingers tapping out a mysterious rhythm against the arm of your chair or your fingertips pressed together leaning against your lips, and your eyes gazing off into some great distance that only your mind can see. But the truly remarkable thing is your eyes when they take on the most brilliant shade of whatever color is dominant that day and I can stare as long as I want with no one to interrupt me.” You took in a stuttering breath and only heard silence from the other end, “I guess what I'm trying to say is I miss you.”

He exhaled and you pictured his face with that pinch in his brow. “You… even after everything… you still have this way of talking about me like I've never heard before. All I have is the picture you sent in my wallet and conversations in my head.”

You wiped your nose and cleared your throat. You could feel the conversation taking a heavier turn than you meant and tried to steer it away. “I’m probably going to have to get rid of this mobile now. Just in case. Did Mycroft tell you why..?”

“Yes. I wasn’t happy but I understood. He says he doesn’t even know where you are.”

“We couldn’t take the chance that there was someone in the office…”

“I know.”

You sighed, “I was just this small town girl, you know? I was supposed to have this boring life in America. Now, I’m in this wee town by the water undercover of all things.”

There was a pause and you knew he caught your hint. “Would you change it all if you could?”

You shook your head, “no. Not if it meant I never met you.”

“It would be a lot easier if you didn’t.”

You swiped at your nose. “Easy is boring.”

“That’s my girl.”

You could hear the smile in his voice and the warmth inside your chest expanded sending waves of goosebumps down your arms, but it didn’t last long until your thoughts turned again. “He turns four next week. You wouldn’t believe how big he is.”

“I won’t let another Christmas go without seeing him.”

You sucked in your cheek and bit down trying not to let the tears overwhelm you again. “You can’t promise that.”

“I just did.”

You smiled despite the fear creeping up your back. “Stubborn as always.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“I should go.” His voice was like a drug but you didn’t like taking more of a chance than you already were.

“We’ll end this.” He sounded so confident.

“We’ll try.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

You laughed, “I hope so.” You walked to the doorway and looked at your case wall in the living room. You took your first full breath in what felt like days. “I love you, Sherlock.”

“That superstition didn’t last.” His soft laughter sent another wave of goosebumps down your arms. The line was quiet then his voice came back, low and tender. “I have loved you for longer than I even understood.”

“That I can believe.” You walked over to the wall, stepped up on the couch, and touched his face as your head swam with memories. “You’ve matured a lot in the last couple of years, Mr. Holmes.”

“A genius is constantly learning besides some things just weren’t meant to remain fixed. Without change, how can one grow or truly learn new perspectives? Isn’t that what you would say?” Your brow furrowed and you stepped back off the couch looking at the news clippings.

“Say that again.” Your gaze jumped from story to story and then stopped on the two post-its at the bottom- Moriarty and his Watson.

“Which part? Y/n, what is it?”

“I’ll see you soon.” Your heart was racing as things began to click in your mind.

“What just happened?”

“I was reminded of your genius. Keep an eye on your phone.”

“Y/n, tell me.”

“Soon.” You hung up and pulled the battery out of the phone. Your gaze still flitting to the different pieces of the puzzle but you had been staring at it all wrong. If Jim Moriarty had a plan in place to ruin Sherlock then it wouldn’t be like his other games. That phrase that Sherlock used to say in his sleep slipped from your lips, “the virus in the data”.

The need to find patterns in the game to lead to a solution but that was the virus, there would be no end to this game. No connections, no solutions, no answers, no closed case. That had to be it. He would flip the script and it could be as simple as simply doing nothing. 

Maybe it was just your need to go back but there was nothing left to do here and something was coming. Something so big that it would ruin him. What if all of this was just to drive Sherlock mad because he could never solve it? But just some unsolvable problems wouldn't be enough. You took another step back taking in the bigger picture as information spun in your mind’s eye then froze on the picture of Sherlock with the burn hole over his chest.

Jesus. Your own words played over in your head, _but I know him, beating him only makes him more intrigued by you which usually ends in some kind of tragedy in your life._ It had been staring you in the face since the beginning. He threatened John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson when he made Sherlock jump and then the picture of the three of you at the wedding along with the burned heart one. The threat he made to Sherlock, the one you both had nightmares about, he was going to burn Sherlock’s heart out and he would do just that with or without you.

He wouldn't need to touch you if he could give Sherlock just a taste of what it would be like then Sherlock might just push you away on his own and burn every bridge he had made. Just like you knew Moriarty did to you all those years ago. Hell, he might've gotten the idea by watching you, maybe he did know you were there but he didn't want to target you until later when the bigger plan came into play. Give Sherlock time to grow closer not just to you either. Your gaze went to the circle you had created under Sherlock’s name. The deeper the connection, the sharper the impact, and the greater the payout.

Sherlock had been growing out of some of his tendencies but if Moriarty could pull this off, even if they survived this, it wouldn't be the same. Sherlock wouldn't be the same. He could retreat back into himself, throw up all those roadblocks again and push everyone away with the finest, most human reason; survival for himself and those around him.

It was as if Moriarty was coming back from the dead and punishing Sherlock to the point where attachments would mean nothing but… death. He cared too much and Moriarty laughed at it, he despised it because to him it was a weakness. Jesus Christ. Moriarty was trying to make Sherlock just like him.

He wanted to break Sherlock down into nothing more than James Moriarty could ever be. He had always been suicidal because he felt life was so much harder than death and he wanted Sherlock to feel every second of that.

You stared at the wall and most of it rang true but something was off. Moriarty always loved the final show, feeding off the devastation that made him feel invincible, but this was… too complicated. Punish. Why did that word feel right but sound so wrong?  You could hear your father’s voice in your head, _brush strokes are an artist’s voice, my MonaLe, every stroke is a breath of life. To the observant eye, you don't need a signature._

The strokes were off. Was it just because it wasn’t really Moriarty but his henchman? Did Moriarty make some compromises with his compatriot as a means to an end or is his henchmen just sloppy or making up moves of his own? Or maybe you were just trying to see a pattern where there was none. Maybe that was Moriarty’s final stroke, his final bow, infecting Sherlock’s mind to continue to search for a pattern that wasn't there, for his pattern all the while waiting for the deathblow. What if all of this was someone else?

You shook your head trying to clear the noise. The only thing that truly mattered was Sherlock and you were too far away, you needed to get back to track down the shooter, that had to be his Watson. But if your whole Watson theory was bullshit, your attempt at trying to find Moriarty’s work in the mess, the shooter was still a real person hitting people tied to Sherlock. If he wasn't Moriarty’s ally, he was being controlled by one or inspired by Moriarty’s legacy.

Mycroft had to know more by now and you could easily work from there. It was time to go back to London. It was time to take Will home but you needed to send a message to Sherlock right away. You needed to remind him of the truth, the one truth you knew above all else.

A creak in the hall made you spin around and a bright light blinded you. You flinched away and heard her curse.

“What the feck?! First, your phone goes dark and then I find a mess on the front porch and the door open, do you want me to shoot you?! Feck!” Even though she was obviously stressed, Vic’s Irish accent was still spot on.

You tried to blink away the bright spots as you pointed to the wall, “we need to go back. I can't finish this here.”

“Woah. Damn, this has… gotten big.”

She walked past you to the wall and you felt your way to the kitchen. “It’s been static for a while which is why most of it has stayed behind the shelf but I'm pretty sure I know what to do next. Damnit!” You stepped into a chair and almost toppled over before stabilizing yourself against the table. “But I can't do it from here.” You grabbed the laptop and walked back into the living room. “Moriarty or someone is playing an open-ended game and I need more information. We can track him, I know we can but not from here. We need to go home.” You sat in your chair and Vic was still staring at the wall.

“God damn, how does that man do it? Do you think Mycroft already had it figured out and was just waiting for you? It's fucked up.”

You navigated quickly to the text page of the underground website. “You curse a lot when you're frazzled.”

She turned on a dime. “I'm not frazzled.”

You looked up at her. “Okay, when your adrenaline is freely flowing, is that better?” She raised her brow and you chuckled, feeling a little giddy yourself. “I need to pack, can you be ready by morning? We’ll get the first flight out?” You typed in Sherlock’s number.

“I can be ready in less than an hour.”

“Show off.” You glanced up as you clicked on the white message box.

“Are you getting a flight?” She walked toward you.

“Just after I send a message.” You took a deep breath as you typed the words that you hoped might get through to him should anything happen before you can get back to him. **The fear of death is survival, but the fear of life is deadly.** You read it through and then hit send.

“Wow, is that some famous therapy quote or something?”

You shut your laptop and looked up at her with a grin, “no. But it probably should be.” You stood up and headed toward your room.

“You're just going to leave me hanging? What's it from?”

“I made it up after being around the Holmes brothers too long.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***possible spoilers with the new episode of Sherlock.*** A few lines borrowed from The Lying Detective in BOLD at the end of this part. If you haven’t seen the most recent episode, the last part of this chapter will be a spoiler.

It was on the plane to London that you got your first solid lead. You were reading the newspaper when Vic sat down after her third walkabout of the plane. You chalked it up to habit but didn't discourage it either.

“Whatcha reading?” Her Irish accent was completely gone once she stepped into the airport and it still sounded weird.

You threw a glance at her as you replied. “Some big shot hunter. I'll never understand men who think it's a sport to hunt animals with high-powered weapons.”

She looked closer at the picture and scoffed, “that sonofabitch doesn't stick to animals. He’s got some balls going public.” She skimmed some of the article, “he published a book? Jesus, he’s got someone with power backing him to show his face like that.”

You studied her. “Why?”

“Because that grade A asshat is a sniper for hire. Animals are not his only game. We were on him for a while after he got dismissed from this semi-secret group of the British military, the first Bangalore Pioneers. He was up to some nasty shit but they didn't have any evidence to charge. That’s kind of the whole problem with secret groups. He went underground and lost his tails, no easy feat considering the two agents that were following him. Last time we had eyes on him, I should've taken the shot but Mycroft was insistent.”

“Mycroft?”

Her brow furrowed then she cursed under her breath, “his power issues are fucking legendary.” She stabbed the picture of the man smiling above the dead lion. “He was the sniper watching John that day at St. Bart’s.”

You balked, “what?”

“I gave him Mycroft’s deal. I think Mycroft thought there was some backup plan if the snipers didn't check in. And I can tell you Moran wouldn't resurface like this unless he knew he had protection. He was deep under, we tried finding him again after all that business with his father but didn't turn up shit. He’s good and he was trained by some of the best.”

“His father?”

“Lord Moran. The case Sherlock and John solved when he came back.”

You looked back at the article with new eyes. “Well, shit.” Who was the power player behind him now? With daddy locked up, it was possible one or some of his father’s allies would be possible. They wanted to blow up the parliament building during some vote. You closed your eyes feeling something tickling at the back of your mind until the memory bloomed.

_He was always like that._

_Who the hell are you?_

_I'm curious how you could deduce where exactly his lie was?_

The IceMan had heard whispers of someone planning to blow up the parliament years before Lord Moran tried. Was someone shopping around? Had it been Moriarty even back then trying to hook up the right players or just someone who overheard something they shouldn't? Your head throbbed and you rubbed your temples.

Vic leaned over you slightly and you glanced at her from the corner of your eye. She was checking Will on your other side then caught your gaze. “I thought you'd like to know Sherlock’s been seeing a therapist.”

You glanced down at Will making sure he was asleep. “How do you know?”

Her gaze shot around as she lowered her voice and leaned in closer. “Chatter from a friend. Mycroft's had someone watching Sherlock like I've been watching you but apparently he upped the surveillance a couple months ago and then three or so weeks ago there was a big fuss over him just walking around. Most just chalked it up to over-protective big brother routine but I just get this feeling like something serious is going on. Maybe it's good we’re going back now.” She gazed into your eyes, “have you ever… what do you think of intuition? Most times I put it down to gut instincts due to training and knowing how people move and think… but this… we haven’t seen anything but I can still feel it.”

You nodded. “I know what you mean. I’ve been telling myself I just miss them and I know something has to snap. The shooter’s been quiet for too long and these poisonings… even if it isn’t Moriarty, someone wants to hurt Sherlock and we can’t do shit from somewhere else.” You looked at the article in your hand, the man smiling up at you from over the dead lion. “We’re at least in the game if we’re nearby and if no one knows we are, then we’re a secret weapon. I wish I could talk to Mary and see what she’s feeling. She’s been around them, she would have seen something.” Vic glanced at you and nodded but something flashed across her face. You thought it was worry but couldn't be sure.  “What is it?”

She looked down at the paper then shrugged. “She’s a mother, might that compromise her ability a bit?”

You shook your head, “believe me that only heightens your senses and makes you more invested in knowing everything that’s going on around you and I mean everything.”

She fiddled with her seatbelt before nodding. “Yeah, that training goes much too deep.”

~~

The safe house was prepped and ready for you within an hour of landing in London and you couldn’t help but notice how close it was to a certain part of Baker Street. One of Vic’s connections had picked you up and driven you to the house where another agent, a female undercover as a landlady ushered you inside the flat and led you to a sitting room where she quickly briefed both you and Vic.

Mycroft had been expecting you and a file was waiting there for Vic. There wasn’t much in it but it gave her an idea of who to contact. You both agreed Mycroft was being stingy with information and it was more than a power thing this time, especially with the looks the undercover landlady had given the agent that dropped you off when he couldn’t see her. Or maybe Mycroft wasn’t the only one feeling the effect of a leak in the building. That charged feeling in the air of something big coming only increased since arriving in London.

Later that night, you were settled on the couch with a book in hand, Will had fallen asleep stretched out beside you after watching his favorite program, one he used to watch with John all the time. You had tried everything to distract from the one pervading thought that had lodged itself comfortably in the center of your mind since you walked into the flat and even though you had been reading for almost an hour, you had only moved about five pages and had no idea what was happening in the story.

You caught Vic watching you with a smirk as you glanced at the door yet again. Her gaze warmed your cheeks and you stopped ignoring her attention. You dropped the book and pleaded, “I can't be this close and not see him. Please help me.”

She rolled her eyes then hopped off the chair she was perched on, “Mycroft doesn't want anyone knowing we’re here, but how can I say no to that face?” She walked over to you and pulled you off the couch. “Okay, listen very carefully. I know that area like the back of my hand. Oh, and take this.” She pulled a small metal object out of her pocket and handed it to you.

“What's this?”

“Once you get up the fire escape, you’ll use that to unlock his window.”

“You just carry things like this around?”

“Of course.” She wrapped her arm around your shoulders and pulled you to the front door. “Okay, now here’s your best bet of getting there without being seen.”

Twenty minutes later, you were climbing carefully up the fire escape and pulling the window lock pick out of your pocket. You could see the figure in the bed once you made it to the window of his bedroom and just as you clicked the lock open, the figure sprung up. Sherlock stood there staring as you started to open the window before breaking from his trance and moving over to help.

“Hi.” You grinned as you threw one leg over the windowsill ducking under the window then twisted as you pulled your other leg inside. You were sitting on the sill with the intention of jumping inside but he stepped in between your legs blocking any further movement then grabbed your face.

You inhaled sharply staring at his lips waiting for them to meet yours as the warmth from his hands seeped into your cheeks. You had missed his hands, the way he could cradle your face like the most precious piece of data and everything else slipped away, but it was always his eyes that could captivate you forever and a day without regret.

When he didn't lean in, your gaze shot up to his eyes and you gasped. His right eye showed clear signs of irritation even in the weak amount of light but his left eye was almost entirely black and yet the intensity in both hadn't dulled. “What the hell happened to you?” You touched his left cheek gently while searching his face for any other damage. He was paler than usual with at least a week’s worth of facial hair around his mouth but you didn't see any other serious signs of damage.

He had yet to move his hands or anything else since he grabbed you. You looked back into his eyes with a lump forming in your throat. “Sherlock? Are you okay?”

His eyes glistened in the light from the street and his eyelids fluttered as if shaking himself from some thought. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones and you waited for his lecture but instead, a smile appeared as he whispered, “you are real.”

You searched his face wondering what he was on and what had truly happened to him while you were gone then his lips brushed tentatively against yours. He leaned into you and the cautious nature disappeared taking your thoughts along with it as he deepened the kiss.

When he finally pulled back and you came to your senses, your arms were wrapped around him and your hands gripping his shirt. “I didn't expect that.” You flushed under his intense gaze.

He slipped his arms around your waist and held you against him as he took a few steps back from the window. Try as he might, he couldn't hide his wince and you slid down until your feet touched the ground. “I don't know what you’ve done to me.”

His voice was gruff and you wondered whether it was just from sleep or if his throat had some kind of damage but you couldn't see any bruises on his neck. “What?”

He grasped your hips then his hands smoothed up your sides before one wrapped around your back and the other caressed your cheek on its way into your hair. “You've spoiled me.”

“Are you high?” He still had that medically sterile smell of a hospital lingering and you hoped this was a medical high.

He smirked, “not yet. They're keeping me off the usual but this one is so much better.” His mouth captured yours again before you could say a word and you were on the bed before you could wrap your head around the fact that you were actually home. “I didn't think you were being literal when you said soon.” He pulled your shirt off and paused for a moment as he gazed down at you. “You have no idea how badly I needed a distraction.”

You brushed your fingers over his chin and up his jawline before pausing by his eye with a wince.  “Morphine or cocaine?” His brows furrowed, “you didn't deny it. So which one is it?”

He shook his head with a grin, “one of my newer favorites, it's all natural and I haven't had it in far too long.” It was your turn to be confused and he reveled in it before leaning down and whispering against your lips, “you.”

Sherlock had a whole different way of making you feel at home and he had no mind to slow anything this time. This was not about getting reacquainted but saying a very enthusiastic hello after being apart for, like the good man said, far too long. Even though there was some fumbling as you both pulled at each other's clothes and you found a few tender spots around his ribs you were careful with, but once you finally came together, the dance still remained the same.

You laid side by side and he watched you as you both regained your breath. He was studying you and you wondered what he saw but didn't interrupt.

“Ireland was good to you.”

You examined his left eye again. “So, you did get my little hint. Seriously, what happened to you?”

“Little? You sent a picture.”

“Oh come on, it was just an ocean behind us, it could've been...”

“It was a lake.”

You rolled toward him onto your side and propped you head on your hand, “I did wonder if you'd be able to figure it out. You're ignoring my question.”

He smirked, “you could see the castle faintly in the background too.”

“Will really wanted to send it.” You quirked your brow while trying to read him.

“And you knew it would be safe with me. Is he with my parents?”

“No. He’s nearby with a very good friend.”

“Who?”

“Two-way street. What happened?”

“It's a long story, but I solved it. Didn't get the news in Ireland?” He was being cheeky but too many things flashed across his face that you couldn't get a read on.

“She’s an agent, an excellent one, and a great friend. Vic was the one that intervened in Germany. You would like her a lot.”

He seemed to mull it over then moved on. “What did you figure out on the phone?”

“I connected a few dots but it wasn’t until we were on our way here that I found a suspect. Ever heard of Sebastian Moran?”

“How did you know that name?”

“I have my tricks too.”

He brushed his fingers over your stomach, “not tricks.”

“Hmm. Agree to disagree.” His hand pressed against your stomach and you glanced down when you felt the tremor he was trying to stop. “Sherlock?” You laid your hand on his, “you smell like a hospital and I noticed the tenderness around your ribs… Please tell me.”

He pulled your hand to his shoulder then leaned in close, you laid back on your pillow and he followed you as his gaze flitted over your face. “Later. I’m fine and I know we don’t have a lot of time tonight so let's pretend that everything beyond this bed doesn’t exist.” He brushed his hand through your hair then trailed across your jaw before his gaze found yours again and the tears that sparkled in his eyes flooded you with a sadness you were all too familiar with recently. “The only thing that can help me right now is you. Just you.”

You ran your fingers through the curls at the back of his neck before placing your thumb and forefinger at the base of his skull on either side of his spine then slid them down his neck with some light pressure. He closed his eyes and dropped his head slightly coming closer to your face. You whispered, “okay. Just us and nothing more.”

~~

The alarm on your phone chimed waking you from a dream you couldn’t grasp onto. Swirls of papers, case walls, pictures, rough waters in the lake, and Sherlock’s anguished voice pleading something. Fingers brushed feather-light over your cheek as you untangled from the dream’s last tendrils gripping you like thick stubborn weeds.

Sherlock didn’t say a word but you could see it in his eyes, he knew it was time for you to go and though he may not agree, he wouldn’t argue. You moved to the edge of the bed, turned off the alarm and noticed the date. You rolled back towards him and pressed a soft kiss to his lips then gazed into his eyes, his left eye looking worse in the dull gray of daybreak. “Happy birthday, love.”

He watched you with the softest expression before smiling. You kissed him again and then got out of bed. You walked over to the armoire and pulled on Sherlock’s housecoat before leaving the room for the bathroom.

When you strolled back into the room, Sherlock was dressed and had clothes laid out on the bed for you. You reached for your bra but he grasped your face and kissed you. It wasn’t like last night, this was a slow, tender meeting that had a sedating effect. When he pulled back, there was something in his gaze that tugged at you so deeply you stood transfixed as he brushed his house coat off your shoulders and placed it on the bed. He picked up the clothes, piece by piece, and dressed you. You had a child with the man in front of you, his hands had touched you in far more erotic ways and yet, there was something so intimate about it goosebumps covered your skin.

After he finished the last button on your blouse, he gazed down into your eyes. “The fear of death is survival, but the fear of life is deadly.”

You touched his cheek with a need to say so much but the words that came had nothing to do with your heart or at least, not exactly. “It's the rooftop all over again. He was trying to make you prove you were like him, put your life above those closest to you, even though he knew you never would. I don't know how, but he’s got someone with the same game plan.” The words made something flicker in the corner of your mind like a feather fluttering, the beginning of a thought but it burrowed deeper as you tried to pull it forward. Sherlock’s brow furrowed and you pressed on. “He’s trying to force you to understand, to taste his way of life but he was never really living his life, just seeking to destroy others until death found him. You see that, right?”

He pressed his hand against yours then turned his face into it and kissed your palm. “I know, I've felt it.”

“You've always lived your life seeking knowledge and truth and using it to help others. You are more than just his opposite, you have always been so much more than him, Sherlock. And not just because you have these people that care about you, they care about you because you are a great man who fights for what is right.”

He pressed his lips to yours and you wrapped your arms around him trying to pour every ounce of some deeper meaning into that kiss. Your chest tightened as you pulled back and stared into his eyes then your phone buzzed on the nightstand, just another reminder that your time was up. “You’ve always had the will to live but maybe, just maybe, you’ll do a little bit more of that living for yourself.” His brows furrowed and you backed away toward the window. “I know you have plans but I do too. I’ll see you soon.” You turned and saw the waiting taxi down in the alley.

“I would ask you what you're planning but I already know what you're going to say.”

You climbed out and smiled through the window at him. “I believe in Sherlock Holmes.”

He grinned, “and then you prove me wrong.”

“It's a gift.” Then you slipped down the fire escape and glanced back once on your way to the taxi catching the sight of him at the window.

“Have fun?” Vic was leaning against the taxi with the door open.

You smiled in spite of her Cheshire Cat grin. “Yes, I did. Thank you for asking.”

Will was laying in the back half asleep and you slipped in next to him careful not to disturb. Vic slid into the passenger seat and the man behind the wheel turned, flashing a grin. You furrowed your brow for a moment recognizing his face.

Vic turned around, “I went with an old friend for this morning's drive. No need to get the word out too early. Mycroft has been doing a little digging and has a few lines for us to check out.”

“How did you?”

“Undercover Cabbie Taylor here is on one of those assignments. He owed me one.”

He turned and reached his hand over the seat. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

You shook his hand, “I've cleared you before, haven't I?”

“It was a while ago, but yeah.” He grinned as he turned back around. “Didn't think you'd remember me.”

Vic flashed wide eyes at him, “he's a big fan of Sherlock’s and I think he's a bit star struck right now.”

He glared at her, “everyone is a fan of Sherlock.”

You tamped down your smile as she laughed. “What are these leads?”

~~

Later that day, Y/n hadn’t been far from Sherlock’s mind. He thought about telling John but decided against it. He couldn’t come to a conclusion on exactly why he didn’t want to share, if it was selfish or protecting John or maybe both. Even after John brought her up, even accused him of possibly sneaking off to meet for a passionate night with The Woman after her text message came in. He thought about telling him about last night but then his whole speech had de-evolved into a confession.

He watched his closest friend talk to empty air like it was his dead wife. At the time, he knew there wasn’t much he should say, he just needed to be there for his friend but after a few moments alone while he dressed, he knew Y/n wouldn’t have let her friend go on thinking they were terrible for simply one bad decision. Maybe it happened for a while but it wasn’t as bad as John made it out to be, at least from Sherlock’s point of view. Maybe Y/n would think differently but he felt he knew her well enough that she wouldn’t judge her friend so harshly.

He stopped at the door pulling on his coat and summoned every bit of that person that Y/n brought out in him and even John. **“It’s not my place to say but it was just texting. People text even I text, her, I mean the woman, bad idea, I try not to but sometimes…** ” John’s brows rose, his mouth curving down. “Not like that,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I spent a whole evening walking with a strange woman and I liked it. I liked the feeling that she seemed to like me.” John watched him quietly, his mouth becoming a tight line then faltering. “I miss Y/n. I miss the things that stirred inside me when she was around, the heat, the warmth, the craziness that I didn’t understand, and that’s probably a terrible thing to say right now but you know I’ve never been good at this. I think we both know what she would say.”

John looked away, “I try not to think about her being wherever she is.”

**“It’s not a pleasant thought, John, but I have this terrible feeling from time to time that we might all just be human.”**

**“Even you?”**

He smiled, “what would Y/n say? Of course she would have all these terms and definitions and be able to explain every possible reaction to human nature and tell you it’s normal or a way of coping and we would nod knowing she was right, sometimes annoyingly…” John chuckled shaking his head. “But she would be right. We all know my faults in human behavior but you are not perfect either and there’s no reason that you should hold yourself to a higher standard especially if it’s just because of my faults. You are not a terrible person, John.”

Sherlock dropped his gaze then looked over to his chair. “I believe if she were here, she would tell you, from time to time, even the strongest among us break and need help. She had this saying that most of us are not single ships, that we weren’t…”

“Wired to sail alone. She was quite fond of that one.”

Sherlock looked back to John, “I think she would know all the right things to say and do to help you and I will never be as good but I’m here if you need anything. I’m here.”

John glanced over to the chair then cleared his throat. **“Cake?”**

**“Cake.”**


	24. Chapter 24

You were sitting in front of the third building on Vic’s list and quickly losing to Will’s boredom. It didn't help that you had been stuck in the car all day. Planes were interesting but sitting in a car was apparently where Will drew the line. You were planning on taking Will back to the safe house when Vic finally spotted some movement.

“I’ve got something. We need a closer look. What do you think Will? You want to stretch your legs?”

“Yes!” Will hooted but you glared at Vic.

“He can't go near…”

Vic turned around with a grin and a quirked brow, “do you honestly believe I’d ever put him in harm’s way?”

“No.”

“There's a coffee shop up there and you or I can take him in there while the other sits on that bench out front. Perfect view without drawing attention.” She pulled on her jacket with a wink at Taylor, “see you at the meet point, super fan.” Then she slipped out the passenger door with Will following right behind slinging on his backpack.

You jumped out of the car and ran around to catch up with them strolling up the sidewalk. You stopped in front of the coffee shop getting an odd flashback to Germany. It was nothing like that small shop yet the feeling wouldn't dissipate. Vic walked inside with Will and you figured you were taking the first bench warming.

You sat down and lifted your phone. It was a common enough occurrence, someone reading or playing something on a phone that it was actually terrifying how easy it was to open your camera and zoom in on the building across the street. There was more than enough movement but no one that really stood out.

Twenty minutes later, Vic and Will walked out and Vic played up the friendly banter of an old friend. You glanced at your phone as you stood and something caught your eye. A woman with dark brown hair pulled back in a severe bun had stopped at the gate in front of the building and you could swear she was looking at you. You turned to get a better look and that tingling at the base of your skull stood those little hairs on end. The woman flashed recognition and smiled, she knew you but you had no idea who she was. You hit the small shutter button a couple times hoping you got a good shot before she turned and walked off. You glanced down and noticed in the last picture what you hadn't in real time, Moran was standing right behind her.

“We need to go.” You tapped a few buttons and sent the picture to Vic’s phone. “This woman saw me, she knows me and I have no clue who she is.”

Vic pulled out her phone, “okay, give me a second.” You felt exposed and wanted to move immediately but you knew Vic had a handle on this much better than you did. “Got her.”

“What?” You turned and looked at her phone. She had a facial recognition program open with not only the picture but a keyword filter of Moran. This app wasn't something that just everyone could get but you wanted it now.

“Elizabeth Moran, Sebastian’s little sister. A Chemist and talented hacker apparently. It’s weird, I didn't know he had a sister. I'll try to follow her, you get to the meet point and Taylor will take you back to the safe house. I'll see if I can track where she's going then check in with Mycroft.” You nodded as she jogged off then you took Will’s hand and turned back the way you came.

You strolled along the sidewalk looking just like the rest of the people taking in the shops on either side of the street but all you saw was that woman’s face. The way she had looked at you, the surprise and yet… happy. You couldn't understand it and it was… haunting. You didn't mean to but you were distracted and if it wasn't for that creepy crawly feeling up your spine and the tingling at the base of your skull yet again, you might have missed him. Someone was watching you.

The first street sign you came across was only a block away from your meet point and then you spotted Taylor’s cab at the next corner. Something wasn't right. Taylor specifically said he would not be parked but idling and he’d pull around the corner once he spotted you, but the cab wasn’t even running. You followed your instincts that Taylor was not an option and stopped by the first store front with a clean window. You caught the man who blended in without a single thing to make him memorable in the reflection while searching for something in your bag. He paused instead of closing in on you or continuing his path.

“Will, remember what I told you about the sun and moon?”

He glanced around with a subtlety that was almost an art form before looking up at you, “so high we can all see it?”

“Yes.” Your hand brushed over your gun but didn’t remove it. You continued on in the direction you were heading at a leisurely stroll with Will’s hand still in a loose hold. “I’m going to send you to Greg so you can see Daddy but I want you to know that anytime you look up at the sun or the moon, know that I am thinking of you. Just like we talked about with Daddy.” You spotted another man at the other end of the street with the same look, glancing at you but hiding it very well. Your grip on Will’s hand tightened and you continued moving.

“Mama? We both go to Greg?”

You turned down the first alleyway. “Someone is following us but you’re going to get to safety while I’ll draw them away then I’ll meet you in a few days, okay? I promise, my love.” You bent down and picked him up, squeezing him a little as you hustled toward the other end of the alley. “You are the most important and I will never stop fighting for you.”

He wrapped his arms around you holding on tight as he shoved his face into your neck. “I know. I’m always with you, Mama.” Lorcan’s head stuck out the top of his bag staring at you as you ran and tears pricked your eyes.

You rushed out of the alley and glanced back, one of the men had just entered. You continued your hurried pace down the street looking for a taxi and keeping an eye out for the second man. A taxi pulled up to the curb at the end of the block and a woman got out.

“I love you, Will.”

He squeezed and his voice wavered, “I love you.”

You ripped open the door and placed Will on the seat buckling him in quickly. “Find Greg, okay? And give Daddy and Uncle John a hug for me.” His mouth quivered and you turned to the driver, “national security. Get him to Scotland Yard, Detective Inspector Lestrade.” You kissed Will’s cheek, “Lorcan will stay by your side. I’ll see you soon, love.” You closed the door not taking your eyes off him until a whizzing past your ear sent your adrenaline into overdrive. The driver said something out his window but you smacked the top of the cab and yelled as you pulled out your gun, “GO NOW!”  

The taxi took off from the curb and you slipped in with the passing crowd moving quickly away from the mouth of the alley you came from. You were shocked that no one was screaming about a man with a gun which only heightened your state of panic that you had to use every ounce of control to stamp down. You had the fleeting thought of raising the gun alarm yourself but chucked it quickly knowing any panic could block the street which blocked Will from getting away.

These guys weren’t working with normal suppressors, you should’ve still heard the gunshot before the bullet sped past your ear. If they lost interest in you, it would turn to the cab. You glanced back and saw him still on you and released a sigh of relief as Vic’s suggestion that Moran had someone with power behind him flitted through your head.

Tucking your hands in your jacket pockets, you admonished yourself. You didn’t have time to think about that. You kept a good pace while watching the taxi from the corner of your eye until it turned the next block and the man was still focused on you. You doubled down, tossing out the information that wouldn't help you get out of this alive. You focused on the layout of the streets around you while you moved and then caught sight of the second man as he turned onto your street from two blocks down. With a quick glance behind, the man with a high-tech gun supressor was closer and you gave him a good view of you before dashing down the next alley.

You needed to predict how these men could split to try to corner you and if possible either lose them or get them turned around chasing their own tails. Sherlock had pressed the importance of a complete knowledge of the street layout in London and if you pulled this off, you owed him big for it. Now all you had to do was spin these idiots into a knot and hopefully, their tech didn't include drones with fancy lenses that could lock onto your heat signature, but just in case you'd take a few more precautions. There was too much at stake not too.

~~

Greg Lestrade was walking to the small kitchen to get a cup of coffee still reading the file in his hand when he heard a change in the normal office soundtrack. He glanced up and froze. The child was taller but there was no mistaking that mop of dark curly hair and those eyes. Will Holmes was clutching a brown dog to his chest walking beside a middle-aged man with a cabbie badge bouncing on his chest.

“Will?” Greg called before his limbs responded.

Will’s head snapped in his direction and he took off running toward him. “Greg!”  

Greg squatted down and opened his arms. Will jumped on him and he dropped his file as he folded the boy in his arms and stood. “Where’s your mum?”

Will sniffled, his small voice choking out, “the bad men.”

Greg looked at the cabbie who raised his hands in front of him in surrender. “A woman threw him into my cab yelling national security, Scotland Yard, Detective Lestrade before slamming the door and dashing off.”

“Dashing off? Was someone chasing her?”

“I tried asking her what was going on but she just screamed for me to go and flashed a gun so I went.”

Greg patted Will’s back as he felt the boy shutter. “How bout we go see Uncle John?” The cabbie stood there staring at him, “anything else?”

The man fiddled with his badge and cleared his throat, “well, I do have a fare to collect.”

“Oh, bloody hell!” Greg barked and a detective nearby rushed over and pulled the cabbie to a desk as Greg turned until he spotted Donovan and called her. He walked toward her and she met him halfway, “I'm taking him to a relative. You cover things here.”

She nodded staring at the child in his arms. “Isn't that…”

“Not a word.” He turned and headed toward the elevator spotting the file he dropped. “Oh and Donovan, can you get that for me? Thanks.”

The drive over to Baker Street felt longer than it was. Will was still sniffling with his face buried in the brown stuffed dog but had calmed down since they got in the car and he whimpered. Greg called John who was already at Baker Street. He had glanced at Will then simply told John, “I’m on my way, there's been a development.”

He parked the car in front of 221B and Will reached up with both hands when Lestrade opened the back door. “Come here, little man. It’s going to be okay.” Greg carried him over to the door and knocked as he prayed he hadn’t just lied to the child in his arms.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door and cried out. She ushered him inside then looked behind him before shutting the door but she didn’t say anything, just followed as he moved up the stairs.

He made it to the first landing before John appeared at the top of the stairs. “Mrs. Hudson… Jesus!” His gaze swept the stairs behind them then returned to Greg’s as Sherlock stepped into the doorway.

“Greg?” Sherlock’s smile slipped as his gaze flicked up to Greg’s.

Greg’s brows rose but then Will turned his head and peeked out as if he didn’t completely believe the voices around him. There was a brief moment of pause where no one moved and every eye was fixed on Will. Will stared at Sherlock and John then suddenly wiggled frantically until Greg got him to the floor and he bolted to Sherlock. Sherlock squatted down just in time to grab the boy who slammed into him locking his arms around him. His cries renewed as he squeezed him, “daddy! Uncle John!”  

Sherlock frowned as he stared at Greg and stood. “Where is she?”

“Mama ran away bad men.” Will wailed and John pivoted looking at Sherlock before turning back to Greg.

Greg told them what he little knew and John cursed under his breath. John noticed Mrs. Hudson was no longer on the stairs and turned to suggest they move into the flat but when he looked at Sherlock holding Will and rubbing his back in a calming gesture, words failed him. The unknown boys laid out on cold tables in the morgue flashed across his vision and he forced it away.

Mrs. Hudson came bustling up the stairs with a tray and shooed the men inside the flat. She set the tray down on the table. “Will, are you hungry?”

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock snapped but Will reached out for her.

“Nana.”

Mrs. Hudson gave Sherlock a sympathetic look and he walked to her then started to hand Will over but Will turned and clung onto him. Sherlock’s brow shot up and Mrs. Hudson smiled and walked over to the couch, “why don’t you sit here and you can have a snack?” Will looked at Sherlock and shook his head. Sherlock walked over to the couch with a pinch in his brow, his mind racing but trying to be present. He sat Will down before sitting beside him then jumping up but didn’t move far from the couch.  

Mrs. Hudson smiled at Will and handed him some crackers. “It's going to be okay. Mama’s strong and she’ll be home soon but we need to keep your strength up.” She glanced at the dog still clutched in his right hand after all the movement. “Who is this adorable little thing? Is he hungry?”

Will lifted Lorcan and quirked his brow, “Lorcan the brave stuffed, Nana. He can't eat.” He hugged him to his chest and looked down. “He protects from bad men in dreams.”

Sherlock’s small smile soured before it could reach his eyes.

Sherlock knelt down in front of Will then asked, “did you see the bad men?”

He nodded as he chewed on a cracker. “Mama saw him first. I saw him run after us.” He hugged the dog to his chest, “she needs Lorcan.”

Sherlock brushed his hand down the stuffed dog’s back. “She'd never allow your dog to leave your side. That's his place.”

Will looked up at Sherlock with big eyes then jumped up and hugged him. “Give hugs to daddy and Uncle John. Greg take me safe. She meet me laters.” His gaze had swept the room and then landed on John’s.

John walked over to the couch and knelt beside Sherlock arms open ready for the leap Will took. “Miss you.” Will squeezed, “miss you so much.”

John closed his eyes and patted his back. “Me too, little man. But you're not so little anymore.”

Will sniffled as he pulled back and flexed his arms. “Big! Battle ready.” Will wiped his nose on his sleeve and puffed out his chest as he looked at Sherlock. Sherlock smiled and ruffled his hair. Will yelped and fixed it.

John and Mrs. Hudson chuckled then Will crawled across the couch cushions to her side. He picked up another cracker and grinned at her, “I know my abc’s.”

Mrs. Hudson gave a big gasp, “really? Already? Let’s hear it then!”

John and Sherlock stood sharing a glance before John walked over to Greg then continued with him into the kitchen but Sherlock couldn't move.

Sherlock watched Will talk with Mrs. Hudson so animated as he went on about all the things he'd learned. Y/n said he’d gotten big and maybe it was just because Rosie was still small, but he couldn't believe the boy sitting in front of him was that tiny boy who tripped over his pants because they were too long. Those pants wouldn't even fit him anymore. She had told him he wouldn't believe it but he thought it was just a thing people say.

Once again, he had missed so much and this time it hurt a hell of a lot more. Of course, last time he didn't know he had a child to miss.

~~

Later that night, Sherlock sat with Will in his lap reading him book after book as his son’s eyes kept flicking to the door. It wasn't until Will’s eyelids started to close that he suggested they try going to bed. Will finally left his living room vigil and held his hand as they walked to the bedroom.

Once they stepped inside, Will saw the window and pointed, “up, up! Please."

Sherlock picked him up and looked at the window, “sure. What is it?”

Will yawned but his eyes were glued to the panes of glass. “See the moon. Mama’s looking at same moon and we’re not so far.”

Sherlock pulled his gaze from Will’s illuminated face to the window and for a moment, he could see her outside fiddling with the lock then that smile on her face as she sat on the sill. _Hi,_ her voice whispered in his mind and his chest clenched.

Will laid his head against sherlock’s chest and murmured, “goodnight, Mama. Love you.” Sherlock looked down and Will’s small eyes gleamed up at him. “Bed?” Sherlock nodded, turned with a single glance at the window, and walked to the bed. Will wiggled down and jumped onto it giggling.

Sherlock watched him with a giddy energy unleashing at the sight. He smiled as Will asked for one more bedtime story. “You sure you’re not too tired?”

Will crawled up to the pillows and laid his head down on one then patted the other. “I’ll tell one.”

Sherlock smirked as he jumped onto the bed then settled down on his back while Will howled with laughter. Once he calmed down, he snuggled into Sherlock’s side then looked up at him, “ready?”

Sherlock nodded, “riveted.”

Will’s brow smashed together, “what?”

Sherlock smiled, “it means you have my complete attention.”

Will nodded then snuggled back into his side laying his head on Sherlock’s arm. “Once was a mean man, real bad guy, wanted all the world in his hand.”

“Was he a big man?”

He thought it over then continued, “ah, yeah. Maybe. Bad guy was smart, not daddy smart, but clever. He had bunches of peoples he made work with him.”

Sherlock leaned his head down toward him and whispered, “how did he force them to work with him?”

“Deals and stuff. He was good at that.”

Sherlock’s brows furrowed, “where did you hear this story?”

Will turned his head and frowned, “innerruption is rude.”

Sherlock smirked, “true. I'm not good with all that.”

Will smiled and shrugged. “That's okay. I still love you.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he laughed, “you're my daddy.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Will pursed his lips and his little brow scrunched together as he looked up at him, “mama trust you. She cares about you a bunch and nothing ever change that. People we trust-” He stuck out his little hand and started to count off with his fingers. “Daddy, uncle John and Mary, nana, grands, Greg, Molly, uncle Myk. We trust people that care cuz they never change.”

Sherlock felt the stab of pain in his chest at Mary’s name but tried to hide it. “Mama is very smart.”

His gaze dropped down to Sherlock’s chest and he played with the button on Sherlock's shirt. “The bad men hurt and want you unstand them but mama come home, right? You keep balance?”

Sherlock frowned trying to puzzle out his words but he still couldn't follow the meaning. “What?”

“You and mama good, you keep balance from bad. She will come home to keep balance in world.”

Sherlock swallowed thickly and looked at the window. “I know she will try her hardest because she loves you.”

“Peoples don't unstand love. Throw it around like nothin.”

Sherlock looked down at him seeing so much of her there. “How old are you?”

“Four.” He yawned, “how old are you?”

“Older.”

Sherlock watched him as his eyes began to fall. “Love is connetion and it take bunches to have.”

“But mama does love you with everything she is. You know that, right?”

He looked at him like he was crazy. “Yes. Mama made me with love.”

“I'm afraid you’ve confused me again. Are you sure you’re only four?”

He giggled and pressed his hand to sherlock’s cheek. The images jumped forward so quickly and heat flooded his chest as younger versions of the boy in front of him did the same to Y/n more times than he could count. Will stared up at him with such raw innocent emotion it took his breath away. “She love you so much you gave her piece of you and she made me. Our bond never, ever be broken. Bad men can't take away. I always be her love.” He yawned again, his hand slid down and came to rest on Sherlock’s chest as he cuddled into his side, “I stay?”

Sherlock ran his hand through Will’s hair as a weightlessness came over him and a small lump formed in his throat. “Yes. Goodnight, love.” He tried it out and a small smile curved his son's mouth.

Will’s small hand patted his chest. “Sleep tight, daddy.”

Sherlock watched him and felt his small chest rise and fall against his ribs then his little arm muscles loosened making his arm go limp and yet even in sleep, his fingers clutched his shirt. He couldn't help but think of Y/n, how well she raised their child to be smart and caring even with everything that had happened during his short life. He couldn't help the thought of Rosie and how much she would need someone like y/n in her life.

He closed his eyes as a dozen memories bombarded him; Will touching her face, her reading to him, Will in her arms as she sang and danced around the room, the two of them laid out on the sitting room floor doing puzzles, her holding his sleeping form at the wedding as she watched him with so much admiration, her carrying him through the hotel, and then watching over his crib. Then the memories changed, flipped on its head and it was Sherlock standing beside the crib, his hand brushing through Will’s curls prepared to leave for what could’ve been the last time and her voice desperate yet soothing, _I know love can be a destructive force, the force that can crush you is the same one that can build you back up._

Sherlock blinked and shook his head just a bit to shove away the clutter and concentrate. Too much going on can dampen the solution his mind was working out but her voice wouldn’t completely fade as he looked down at Will. _A child can mean different things to different people; burden or gift, legacy or dream crusher, stressor or future caregiver, and sometimes all of the above in their time._ He could still picture that smirk of satisfaction on her face that first day when she knew she had outdone him because he didn’t believe the talk about the new woman in Mycroft’s employ.

He was surprised that the memories didn’t hurt him in some way. She wasn’t here and yet the thought of her didn’t immediately lash him with torment. In fact, they made him feel stronger, cleverer somehow, or maybe it made him want to be stronger. Not just for her but for Will.

This world was messy, a cesspool of distasteful waste and stupid people but Y/n and Will made it feel different. It was there before, the sudden joy at something small that made no sense before they came into his life but he could never pinpoint what it was that made him feel like things had changed. Suddenly, John’s speech from the other day played in surround sound.

_Don’t give me the bullshit romantic entanglements speech again. Y/n and Will complete you as a human. You can’t honestly believe that you are still that person you were when we met because those who actually know you can see it clear as day and hopefully you’re not that much of a moron that you don’t.” He pointed his finger at him, “the sooner you stop lying to everyone and yourself the better because you are going to need to be more than that man to finish this. We both need to be better than those men._

He supposed he always knew what it was but didn't have a term for it. Y/n called it connection. It was his connections making it different but he was still trying to play the card he’d used for so long when pressed about friendships or anything else. The sociopath with no entanglements but that ship had long since sailed.

He smiled thinking of her until he remembered why Will was with him tonight. She was running and he had no way of knowing if she was okay and yet somehow he was confident she was. She was off working some angle with Vic knowing that he would keep Will safe because the world depended on it. Even if it was just their world but that’s what made them stronger and fight harder. The destructive force that could not only rebuild but could also enable them to be more to keep that world safe.

As in most cases of this manner, John Watson was right.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Spoilers for Series Four: The Dying Detective and The Final Problem**

Greg Lestrade was walking toward the body that had been reported twenty minutes earlier at dawn. Molly had gotten to the scene almost at the same time and walked by his side with her crime scene bag in hand. She had been rambling about a television show until she tapered off when they saw a pair of legs sticking out amid the pile of garbage bags. **  
**

They continued to the body in relative silence both preparing themselves for what they could find while officers moved around them finishing taping off and securing the perimeter. The upper half of the body was covered by a garbage bag and Molly quickly snapped a few pictures then Greg lifted the bag and carefully set it aside. The face was obscured by her hair. Another few shutter clicks.

“It's just not possible. She would never be so reckless.” Molly took her time surveying the area before kneeling down and gently pulled the hair away then recoiled slightly. She glanced up at Greg who stared at the damage with a look she didn't like. “You've got to be joking. She would never, not with Will.”

He pulled his gaze from the body and looked Molly in the eye. “Will is at Baker Street. I took him there myself just yesterday.” He looked back at the battered face then down to the three bullet holes in the torso. “Will said bad men were chasing them and she threw him in a cab, sent him to me.”

Molly clamped her mouth shut as she looked back to the woman’s face that was no longer identifiable on sight. “No. If it was her, they wouldn't have had…” she shook her head and stood up straight, “no. I don't believe it.”

“Hey, you need to get back!”

Both Molly and Greg whipped around at the officer’s tone. Greg cursed under his breath at the sight of the cameras moving in from across the street toward the mouth of the alley then shouted, “who let them up the block?”

“We just got here how did they get the tip off so quickly?” Molly tried blocking the view with her own body.

Greg turned to the few officers nearby and barked, “get something up to block this area off.”

“Like what?”

“A tarp! Sheets! Your jackets! I don't bloody care, just do it!”

Molly grabbed the white sheet from her bag and draped it over the body until they could actually secure the scene. “Now, I really don't believe it. This is just some dressed up part of someone’s sick game.”

Greg nodded then shoved his hand through his hair, “but we don't say anything to them until we’re positive. Absolutely positive.”

Molly looked down, pivoting slightly away from Greg as she tucked her hands in her pockets. “I know. I know what that would do.”

Greg watched her, his concern evident in his brow as he gave her a sad smile, “still?”

She cleared her throat as she squatted by her bag, “how about we get this area secure so I can do my job?”

“Right.” Greg turned and strode toward the officers still rummaging for a proper blind. He said a quick prayer that he hadn't lied to Will yesterday and hoped Molly was right. All of this wouldn't be needed for the real thing. Hopefully.

~~

John jabbed his key into the lock and brushed his hand over Rosie’s head with a few soothing sounds as he rushed through the door and up the stairs. At the top of the staircase, the door to the flat was open and he walked in to find Sherlock at his laptop typing away. He heard Mrs. Hudson talking with Will in the kitchen. John stared at Sherlock but his friend didn’t acknowledge him. “Have you heard from Lestrade?”

“No, and I don't expect to for a few hours.” He continued typing and scrolling.

“So, you heard.” John walked over to the desk and looked over Sherlock’s shoulder. He was scrolling through search hits that had nothing to do with the body found at dawn. He typed another set of keywords before scrolling again without a response. He nodded, “okay, how did last night go?”

“It's not that difficult to put a child to bed.”

Rosie whined and John unhooked the baby carrier. “Right.” He rolled his eyes as he pulled Rosie out, “what are you doing?”

“Research. What are you doing?”

“I can't tell if you're pissy because you didn't get a lot of sleep or if that's just me.”

“Did you just call me pissy?” Sherlock finally looked away from the computer then smiled at Rosie. John opened his mouth then closed it and shook his head. Rosie was babbling and reaching toward Sherlock when Will yelled from the kitchen.

“Uncle John!” Will jumped down from the table and bolted toward him. John handed Rosie to Sherlock who picked her up as he stood.

John turned and squatted just in time to catch Will. “How did you sleep?”

“With daddy.” Will gave him a tight squeeze.

John glanced up at Sherlock. “So, good then?”

Will pulled back and looked up at Rosie. “Baby Rose.”

Sherlock and John glanced at each other then Sherlock squatted down and turned Rosie around with her back against his chest.

Will turned and reached out with wide eyes, “hiya, baby rose.” He closed his hand over her small one and she looked at him, suddenly quiet. “I’m Will.” Rosie squealed and kicked her feet. Will giggled as he held his hand out for her to hit.

“You know Rosie from a picture?” Sherlock said watching them with a smile.

Will nodded without taking his attention off Rosie. “Mama had her picture up on the wall with Uncle John and Mary.” His eyes widened and his gaze shot up to Sherlock. “Mama’s puzzle!” He spun around and clapped his hands on John’s cheeks, “I have her puzzle!”

John winced and Sherlock asked, “what puzzle?”

He ran over to the couch where his book bag still sat from yesterday. He grabbed his bag and carried it over to the middle of the floor as he opened the front zipper pocket then overturned the bag showering the floor with papers.

Mrs. Hudson walked over and Sherlock handed Rosie to her as he squatted down near Will, his eyes scanning the papers as Will began to flip some over and move them around. Newspaper clippings, pictures, post-its, and scraps of paper. He spotted an article on a poisoned unidentified boy and another on a sniper victim. He knelt down and picked up a post-it with The Woman scrawled on it. He looked to Will who worked diligently moving papers around the rug until an order started to appear.

A piece of yellow legal pad paper with Sherlock written in her careful script was placed at the top and directly below it, a small circle of six post-its that Will was putting the pictures carefully above each corresponding name. _Us, John and Mary, Nana, Grands, Greg, Molly._ With a small space just to the right of the circle, Will placed a picture of Mycroft with a rare smile over the post-it with his name.

“She's been working on the cases.” John pointed to the articles on the sniper victims and the notes scrawled in the margins- _S &J’s cases._

“It's a game. A thinking game.” Will said, plucking the post-it from Sherlock’s hand and placing it by Mycroft’s post-it. He found another post-it and placed it under Mycroft’s. _Shooter from Bart’s? MORE INFO._

At the very bottom of his puzzle, under the newspaper articles, Will arranged two final post-its. _Moriarty and His Watson- Shooter?_ was printed with her perfected handwriting she mostly used when she was in clinic mode and then under His Watson in a harsher scrawl with all capital letters, _MORAN._

Will pointed to the small circle underneath Sherlock's post-it. “The inner circle. People you trust that he knows.” He pointed to Mycroft and The Woman, “people you repect.” Then he waved his small finger over the news stories, “this is the setup but mama didn't tell me more. I tried solve it but mama said some riddles can't solve cuz not met to.”

“You said that he knows, who’s he?” Sherlock watched Will and he pointed to the post-it at the bottom. _His Watson._

Sherlock glanced up at John whose brow was drawn together as his gaze flicked back and forth between the papers and Will until he caught Sherlock’s glance. Their gazes met briefly in a silent communication that they’d had before when it came to Y/n. She had once again surprised them but this time there was more fear for what she might be wading into at that very moment.

Will picked up the picture with Rosie and carried it over to her, “look Rose. It’s you as a wee baby!”

Rosie kicked and squealed in delight. Mrs. Hudson frowned at Sherlock and John who were still scrutinizing the papers on the floor. “Alright boys, clean that up so Will and Rosie can play. That’s no place for that sort of thing.”

The two men glanced at the kids then began carefully picking up each piece of her puzzle keeping it in the relative order that Will had created.

~~

The lock on the back door of Mycroft’s house was hideously easy to pick and the passcode for his alarm even more embarrassing. You found his kitchen and had a hard time finding something edible. There was nothing in the fridge except some take out leftovers and your stomach growled even though the smell that emanated from his fridge should’ve turned you off.

A quick search of the cabinets and you finally found an old box of crackers. You sat on the counter chomping the stale offering and thought out your next move. You wondered if Vic got your message and if she understood it at all.

Noise near the front of the house drew you from the kitchen and the front door opened, the alarm beeping its warning and then silenced with the correct code. You remained hidden in the back hall until you heard her voice.

“I told you she wouldn’t go back to Baker Street. She wouldn’t put him in danger. She’s not at the safehouse so the only other bet is the office.”

Mycroft stepped into the hall and looked toward the back of the house. You stepped out, “you’re security is appalling.”

Vic stepped into the hall with a grin, “a coded message? Really?”

You shrugged as you walked toward them, “I had two men on me with some nice tech. He shot at me and there was no sound, none, except for the whiz of the bullet by my ear.”

Mycroft’s brow rose and Vic’s scrunched together as she exclaimed, “but it’s… it’s just not…”

“Almost not,” Mycroft added as he moved into what you could only assume was his sitting room with two high back chairs in front of a fireplace and a small table with a decanter of amber liquid and four nicely polished glasses. “It’s possible, just for an extremely high price. Ever try pressing a gun with a silencer to a pillow before shooting? It muffles it even further and with enough environmental noise, that type of sound could blend in quite easily on a busy city street.”

You watched Mycroft pour three glasses. “Will did make it safely to Greg then?”

He glanced at you with a nod, “he’s safe at Baker Street. I received a few phone calls asking about you of which I had no idea.” He handed a glass to Vic who gladly accepted but you shook your head.

“I’d prefer something edible, you know besides these stale crackers I managed to find in your poor excuse of a kitchen.”

Mycroft pulled out his mobile and quickly dialed then looked at Vic, “would you like to bring her up to speed?” Vic watched him leave the room with narrowed eyes.

“Did you hear from Taylor?”

Vic glanced at you then shook her head, “he didn't make it.” She cleared her throat and pointed to the chairs, “let’s sit.” You shot her a glance but followed her over to the unlit fireplace and took a seat. “So, Sebastian’s dear sister… you know how I said I didn’t recall him having a sister?” You nodded and she glanced toward the hall where Mycroft disappeared. “Well, prior to five years ago, he didn’t.”

“How..?” You leaned forward dropping your head in your hands feeling the lack of sleep and all the running hit you hard. You were more drained than you had been in a long time. “Another spy?”

“Ah, no.”

You peeked up at her from behind your hands. “What?”

“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m exhausted. Can we...”

“No need for the language. This is my part of the story.” You sat up at Mycroft’s voice and watched him walk over to the table where his glass still sat. He picked it up and swirled the liquid while he looked at the window.

“Well?”

He glanced at you and sighed, “she’s my sister.”

You blinked then looked at Vic before turning back to Mycroft. “I’m sorry I didn’t think I had any alcohol but…”

“My sister Eurus who was supposed to be locked up in a secure facility has made her way to London.”

“What the fuck?”

Mycroft’s brow shot up, “all families have secrets.”

“You’re messing with me,” you cackled. It sounded wrong even to your ears.

He watched you as his face slowly shut back down into his business facade. “No, I most certainly am not.”

You fell back into the chair and stared at the dark fireplace. “I don’t…”

“No one knew,” Vic murmured. She was so quiet you wondered if she had moved away but with a glance, she hadn’t.

“Mycroft?” You turned in the chair and looked up at him, “why do you have a secret sister?”

Mycroft didn’t move his attention from the window this time, “because a long time ago, our family was... shaken by a tragedy and we did our best to fix it. It was hard for my mother to talk about after they supposedly died and Uncle Rudy convinced her it was better for everyone if we moved on.”

You looked at Vic and she shrugged. “Come the fuck on! Whatever happened…” You stood from the chair and turned to Mycroft, “how do you just erase someone from existence? I've been to that house…”

He studied you as he spoke in an even tone. “To anyone searching, Will doesn't exist. Not on paper, at least. Are there any pictures floating around of him or just a few you have carefully given to those you trust?”

You looked away knowing he was right. You took Will away for a little over a year, sure the neighbors probably wondered in the beginning but who would really know except the ones who knew what had happened. If you had lost Will would you want reminders all over the place? People asking constantly what happened? You looked back at Mycroft. “But your mother and father… she was their daughter.”

He frowned and looked at the window, “she has a photo album in her room but besides that, we lost almost everything in the fire Eurus set. We moved, they were taken away, and we continued on.”

Vic’s voice was calm but insistent. “We need to know what we’re dealing with and we need all the information we can get. If your sister is working with Moran…”

“I’m sure she is and it’s all my fault.”

You walked over to him and touched his arm. His head snapped in your direction with a look of contempt that didn't quite sell because of his eyes. There was a touch of fear you had never seen before but you didn’t take your hand away, “you need to tell us what she’s capable of so we can figure something out. I can’t sit on my ass just waiting for her to make a move.”

His brow scrunched, “you’re not going to like it.”

“Sherlock has a secret sister that he doesn’t even know about and she possibly wants us all dead. Yeah, I’m sure I’m not going to like it.”

“You said they,” Vic piqued your interest with her low tone that had an unmistakable edge. She was staring at the floor with her muscles tensed almost poised on the edge of the chair ready to pounce. She was onto something and you could almost feel it in the air and vibrating in the back of your skull.

“Yes. Eurus was the intelligent half of a pair. She had a fraternal twin that not only lacked her intellect but a lot of things.”

You looked at Mycroft, your eyes widening. “It's never twins.”

“What?”

You shook your head, “nothing. I'm guessing there’s a long story coming. When is the food going to be here?”

“Minutes, hopefully.”

Thirty minutes later, you were slumped over in a high back chair with the food you had hastily eaten turning in your stomach. “So, she…” You squeezed the bridge of your nose, “locked away a boy and…” you flinched as a deep sense of dread curled in your chest.

Vic was leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees as she stared at the empty glass in her hands reflecting the fire now crackling in front of them. “But why does Sherlock think it was a dog?”

You could feel Mycroft’s eyes on you. “Ask the child psychologist.”

You turned to Mycroft sitting poised as ever in a chair he carried in from another room, his suit jacket draped nicely over the back. You were expecting a smile but there was nothing. His face was blank as he stared at the dark window.

You answered for Vic, “a traumatic experience can be repressed, completely blocked out, to help you to cope but changing one or two aspects to something more bearable is a common coping strategy too. If the stressor exceeds a person's ability of coping, the brain can rewire to help ensure survival. After a long period of time, especially for a young child, those painful memories could be forgotten completely but to repress a whole individual, I mean it wasn't an area of study but I think I maybe came across a handful of cases and they all dealt with abuse.” Your eyes widened as your gaze jumped back to Mycroft. His grip on his glass was too tight and you caught the flare of anger and contempt on his face.

“So, why hook up with Moran?” Vic changed the subject, you didn’t argue but your mind was stuck on the abuse factor and the look on Mycroft’s face.

“Moriarty’s number one sniper? Why not?” Mycroft fired back.

“But you said this meeting was five years ago, why wait til now?”

“Does it really matter?” Mycroft snapped.

You glanced between the two and replied with a calm tone, “because there had to be a reason she waited so long.”

“She was incandescent but I’m sure it took her a lot longer than a few days to get a hold of and reprogram enough of the right people. I had given explicit orders…” He gritted his teeth.

“Yes, well, it’s a facility with people. I’m sure there were a few who felt bad for the poor crazy girl who wasn’t allowed any human contact.” You tried to keep the judgment out of your voice but you could see by his reaction that you failed.

“I was doing the best that I could. You never saw what she could do.” A haunted look passed over his face before he once again shut it down. “Sherlock is good, I am… Well, she was just far more than you can imagine.” He grimaced, “Sherrinford despised us all but he loathed her for it.”

Vic piped up this time, “I thought Sherrinford was the place…”

He looked up with a pale facade of a smile, “one of those rare true coincidences, I’m afraid.”

“He wasn’t the only one.” Vic bit out.

Mycroft didn’t flinch. “He actually did die in the fire that moved Eurus to her new home.”

Vic looked horrified, “Jesus! That's just…”

“Cruel.” You whispered. It was the only word that fit but it felt… harsh. You were all getting too exhausted to keep a calm head with this kind of topic.

Mycroft brushed invisible crumbs from his pants, “Uncle Rudy was never…” he shrugged half-heartedly and looked more tired with each word. “I continued what he started because it was the only option available.”

You wished you could have another set of ears, another person who could think clearly about this. You still couldn't be sure that Moran and Eurus were completely in this together. “What about Mary? She and I could track Moran while you...” You looked at Mycroft and froze. “What?”

His face slackened and then he rolled his eyes. “Well…” He glanced at Vic and you turned your gaze on her.

“What?” You saw the flash of worry across her face you had seen so recently. “Vic?” Her eyes finally came up to yours but what you saw sucked the air from the room. “What?” Your gaze shot to Mycroft, “are you…” You pressed your hand to your mouth and dropped your gaze to the floor. The pain in your chest finally forced you to drag in a breath. “How?”

Vic squeezed your leg, “I’m so sorry. I heard while we were on the plane and I didn’t know how to tell you. She was shot…” You found her gaze and the unshed tears lingering there, “saving Sherlock. That’s why he went to the therapist or at least, why I thought...”  

You dropped your head as your own tears blurred your vision. It was like a cannonball had been launched at your chest and tore a huge chunk of your middle out. The pain was immense and then suddenly, you were numb. “John?” You choked out.

“Had a bit of a breakdown as you can imagine but things have improved recently. I’ve been told.” Mycroft spoke matter of factly and you turned toward him but couldn’t see his face. His head was down, his hands folded together in his lap. His head lifted, “is there anything else you would like to know?”

You jumped up from the chair, your chest heaving, “no! But I would like to see some goddamn human decency!”  

“All people die…”

“SHUT UP!” You shouted then bit down, “just for once, could you pretend that you understand. She was my…” You were about to say friend but you couldn’t even get the word out. You squeezed your eyes shut hearing the words you had said to her that last Christmas before you and Will disappeared. Most moments with her were tense after that, even though you didn’t give her as much of a silent treatment but you never even got the chance… to give her anything more. You strode from the room not trusting your own voice.

You wound up back in his small kitchen and dropped into a chair then laid your head on the table with nothing but thoughts of your best friend. The man who had helped you through hell and so much more.

You missed the birth of his child, you missed the first year of her life, and you had been absent when his wife died and he was left to mourn alone. They were both left to mourn without someone they truly trusted. Mrs. Hudson and Molly were probably there for them, John would allow them to help with Rosie but he wouldn’t reach out for help for himself and neither would Sherlock. Yet Sherlock went to a therapist. You thought back on the bruises and tenderness, was it really only a few nights ago? How tired he had gotten so quickly even though he had tried to keep it hidden. He was still battling back from something and you wondered if maybe it was more than just drugs.

You felt cold, drained, and numb but you didn't have the time for a breakdown. You shut it down, quickly slamming the brewing misery into the furthest compartment in your mind and sealing the cabinet shut tight, locking it for good measure. You cleared your throat and felt a searing pain in your leg. Your nails were digging into your thigh and you shook out your aching hand while rubbing your thigh with the other. You didn’t have time for this now. They didn't have time for this. You needed to find Moran, needed Mycroft and Vic to figure out what the hell Eurus was up to, and you needed some sleep so you could pull yourself together.

Tomorrow was only the beginning and if you needed to push Mycroft to get home to your son then you would push him past his own limits to end this. There was no other option, you spent long enough running and hiding.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible spoilers for Series Four: The Final Problem

Moran was good. Even in the urban area, he had military training that helped him disappear and stay hidden. And with Moriarty’s network funds, who knew what kind of money he had for resources. After two weeks of work, it didn't seem possible to track him with any reliability. You were beginning to think you were lucky spotting him that day with Vic or maybe he was just being more careful. You didn't have time to let him slip away over and over. You needed to bring the game to him before someone else died.  
  
Even with your head down tracking Moran, you had caught the news of the bomb on Baker Street. The remains of 221B weren’t as bad as it could be but it was enough to make its point. Will and Rosie were off with Mr. and Mrs. Holmes on a last minute vacation and it was the only thing that allowed you to breathe. With the kids out of reach, that left only the adults to get this over with and it wasn’t getting done as fast as you hoped.  
  
You closed your eyes and rubbed them gently. The hours of staring through binoculars and watching different buildings was definitely getting to you. This was never your type of work but it had to be now. Mycroft was doing his part while everyone else thought he was in critical condition at an unspecified hospital, Sherlock and John were probably recovered enough by now to be back at it, and Vic was working her angle on Moran’s business. But Moran had become just as much of a ghost as the three men you hoped to hell knew what they were doing.    
  
You couldn’t get Eurus’s flash of recognition at the sight of you out of your head. It didn’t look like she mentioned it to Moran but she could have messaged him once she got in the car she sped off in. Did he actually see you and send his men after you or did she? Either way, they came after you. They had more than enough chances to kill you but that wasn’t the plan like the tranquilizer Eurus shot into John’s chest when she could have killed him. There was a much bigger game than to simply kill you in the streets, they needed you alive to be handed over to Moran or Eurus.  
  
You snapped your eyes open and stared at the house you’d been watching for the better part of the day and wondered if maybe you were going about this all wrong. You didn’t have to find him, you could let him find you. Break into one of his houses, they would certainly have surveillance, and present an undeniable option. Plan b was always a reliable backup.  
  
You turned on your mobile and called Vic. A couple of beeps notified you of messages as you waited for her to answer. You were just about to pull the phone away to look when her harried voice broke through. “Y/n?”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“We’ve been trying to get a hold of you since yesterday!”  
  
“I told you I was tracking…”  
  
“Mycroft, John, and Sherlock are gone and I can give you one bet where they’ve headed.”  
  
You shoved the key into the ignition. “Do you think Mycroft was right, that she wouldn’t hurt either of them?”  
  
“How the hell could anyone say for sure? The girl was locked up when she was a child! It’s been decades since he’s really talked to her and he let fucking Moriarty in to have a chat. Listen, that backup plan we talked about the other night, after some actual sleep I have a few concerns...”  
  
“Do you think Moran is working with her?”  
  
“That’s the problem, I think they are and if this has so much to do with her brothers, if Moriarty set this up, I’m a little worried about why she’s working with Moran.”  
  
“What if he’s the best chance we’ve got?”    
  
“Radio silence on their end and it’s impossible to get a line to Sherrinford without Mycroft. So, this whole plan has a few holes. How much sleep have you gotten? You should come in and once we hear from Mycroft...”  
  
“And what if we don’t?”  
  
“And what if she’s waiting for you to be presented to her. Did you ever think of that? Come on, you need some real rest. Now that she’s gone all nostalgic with her brothers, what if she hooked up with someone that reminded her of her twin? Don’t you remember what Mycroft said about Sherrinford?”  
  
“We don’t have a choice. Mycroft was confident he could shut that prison down and take control from whatever idiots let this happen.”  
  
“He was confident that she couldn’t get out either.”  
  
“Vic...” There was a noise outside of the car and you glanced around.  
  
“What if we’re playing into their plan? You need some rest and we can…”  
  
There it was, that tingling at the back of your neck. Maybe Vic was right, someone already had eyes on you. “Vic. Remember the rest of the plan.”  
  
“What... Leave now!”  
  
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible at this point.”  
  
Vic let out a quiet string of curses and then a crack in the window beside you was almost simultaneous with the hot burst of pain in your neck. You hissed and grabbed at the throbbing sting. It was buried pretty deep but you felt the tip and pulled until finally, the small projectile came loose. You tried to keep hold of it but it slipped from your grip before you could look at it. You stared at your hand and the shiny red paint that covered your fingers. It was so warm and smooth.  
  
A deep breath vibrated through your ear and you could see Vic, her back straightening in her chair in Mycroft’s sitting room with the fire slowly undulating beside her. The heavy feeling settling throughout your body should’ve brought panic but Vic’s voice was warm honey being pulled like taffy. “We’re coming.”  
  
“Make sure… Sherlock haswhaheneeds.”  
  
“Fuck! Y/n...” The steering wheel in front of you bloated and the car seat seemed to envelop you in warm leather. Her voice swirled around you and seeped into your skin. “We’re coming. Do you hear me?”    
  
There was a twinge of sadness but you couldn’t trust your own senses because of the drug that was icing your veins and pulling you into an artificial twilight. Maybe you were right and Moran would give you answers or maybe just like your worry over Mycroft’s assessment of Eurus, your own profile of Moran was lacking data.  
  
Your eyelids were finally too heavy to fight and slammed closed. Who the hell did you think you were trying to play the spy? That was Mary and Vic, you were nothing but a tired mother, a haunted lover, and a scared...  
  
~~  
  
It was so hard to dig up and out of the nightmarish images holding you down but when you finally surfaced from the dream, the frigid hands against your skin didn't completely disappear. That thick cold had settled so deep every part of your body seemed saturated, your skin, muscles, bones, and it even sluggishly flowed through your veins. You were groggy, off balance, and heavy. Lifting your eyelids took time and almost more focus than you could muster but then the pervading black dissipated and you stared forward until your vision partially cleared in the low light.  
  
A dirty gray wall or ceiling, after a few seconds you confirmed you were laying down on a flat, hard surface. Gray ceiling. Your first thought was an old morgue but you couldn't say for sure if the cold was coming from outside your body. The stiffness in your wrists and ankles changed as you tried to ground yourself by taking stock of everything you could identify. It wasn't a stiffness in the joints but a pressure on them, a wide band. Straps. You were strapped to a smooth, possibly steel, table. Ankles, wrists, and across the pelvis.  
  
A screeching door opened to your left and a man stepped into the room. You blinked to clear the white dots filling your vision from the sudden brightness but it only made it worse. You closed your eyes and listened. Boots, one set, heavy but rubber soled, stepped into the room.  
  
“Ever the clever girl.” A surprisingly smooth, deep voice, his speech pattern was eloquent, educated. You knew it had to be Moran but you didn't expect the twinge of familiarity. “You’re quite the patient little bee, aren't you?”  
  
It was a little easier to open your eyes this time and Moran stood at the head of the table staring down at you. His upside down face was unsettling but then nothing about this was meant to be a comfort.  
  
“I saw you on a few cameras over the past few weeks and might I say, bravo. At least, on some of your stakeouts, but your lack of experience really stood out on a few.”  
  
He grinned before lifting a wide leather strap into your view then hooked one side of it to the table almost underneath your neck. The cool leather lay against your throat as he attached the other end on the other side of your neck and with a few more clicks, it pulled to a snug fit. The pressure was uncomfortable but the message was clear; he was in control and things were not going to get better.  
  
“Patience and persistence. Have you read my book? No? I once crawled into a drain pipe after a tiger I’d been tracking for days. He was wounded because a few of my shots just happened to miss vital organs but the ending wasn't what I envisioned. I've learned a lot since that day and you,” he sighed as he brushed his fingers over your cheek, “I’ve been so patient.”  
  
He walked around the table tightening the straps as he filled the room with the sound of his voice and the clicks of the ratchet straps. “I'm afraid we’ll have to take this slow.” Wrist, pelvis, ankle. “Since he’ll be out of the office for a day or two.” Ankle, pelvis, wrist. “Maybe a few depending on how many games my sister has lined up. She gets wrapped up in all her… stupid mind games but you and I will just have to get to know each other to pass the time. How does that sound?”  
  
You had a smart comeback about his fake sister but held yourself back. Anger wouldn't help you here, you needed to keep calm and get in his head. You needed more data to find out what he wanted to hear and what would give you more of a chance to get out alive. You tried to answer but your mouth wouldn't move. That frigid realization had been pressing against you since you woke but maybe the drugs still in your system had numbed you to it until now or your brain was steering away to keep you calm. Nothing was responding because you were stuck in your mind and your body had been detached by a paralytic. Panic rose like bile in your esophagus. There was no reason for you to be strapped down and definitely not this tight except...  
  
He was at the head of the table again and looking down with a smile that only made the growing profile in your head more horrifying. Hands on sadist.  
  
“Oh, good. I love the silent types. During this part of our relationship, it's probably best if I do all the talking, that way you don't ruin anything. Let's begin, shall we?“ He leaned down into your face, his minty breath hot and yet blending with the cold surrounding you, “oh, and the safe word is redbeard.” He laughed at his own joke, “we are going to have so much fun.”  
  
The tear slipped down the side of your face and landed in your ear. You closed your eyes and dashed into the space in your mind that Sherlock had helped you enlarge and fortify. You found the door to 221B, pulled it open, and walked over to his chair before sinking down into its soft cool leather. You curled up and like a blanket thrown over your shoulders, the soothing sounds of his violin began to play. You could see the smile flitting across his face as he glanced at you and the melody changed. His fingers and his soul began to paint you a picture with a sweeping melody. You took shelter in that familiar warmth you always found when you came home.  
  
~~  
  
Vic tapped her fingernails nervously on Mycroft’s desk as she dialed Mycroft’s mobile yet again. She knew a clean-up crew had been sent to Sherrinford but no one was answering their damn phones. She had a sudden thought and dug inside his desk drawers until she found the small book he kept with important numbers. Sometimes being old-fashioned did come in handy. Flipping to the L section, she found Greg Lestrade and dialed the number. The second he answered, she yelled over him, “Greg, where’s Sherlock?”  
  
“Who is this?”  
  
“A friend of Y/n’s. Is he with you?”  
  
“We’ve got everything covered…”  
  
“Sherlock! Now!”  
  
“Okay. Okay.” She listened to the background noise then heard Greg talking to someone else. There was some rustling then another voice.  
  
“Who is this?”  
  
“Sherlock, you don’t know me but I’ve been with Y/n.”  
  
“Vic?”  
  
She sighed, him trusting her a little would make this easier. “Yes. I’m sending something to Greg’s phone that you need to see but you’re not going to like it.” She pulled the phone away and forwarded the pictures she had received by text in the last two days.  
  
The first picture was mostly in shadow, a small amount of dim light fell over a woman’s shoulder and back, her shirt torn and dirty, and the profile of her face was a silhouette but the second one couldn't be mistaken for an art project. It sent a clear message. Y/n was tied to a chair but staring defiantly above the camera despite the bruising and blood that covered more than half of her that was visible. The text below it in a darker red, **Come play.**  
  
“What is this?”  
  
“There’s a number but he will only answer for you. I tried it twice but only heard… her.”  
  
“He?”  
  
“Sebastian Moran. You need to get on that helicopter now or I’ll have one sent to you.” She paused and glanced down at the wallet on the desk.  
  
“When did you last speak with her?”  
  
“Two days ago. I was on the phone when… something happened but by the time I got to her position, she was gone with no trace evidence. I received the first text almost exactly twenty-four hours later and the second one this afternoon.”  
  
“Greg? Is there another helicopter?” His voice was urgent and fuller than it had been when he first took the phone.  
  
“We can take Scotland Yard’s into London.”  
  
“What’s going on?”  
  
“That’ll have to do.” By the tones of the other voices, she had a good guess that all three men had seen the photographs. “Vic?”  
  
“He will only talk to you. Once you get to London, your wallet and your temporary mobile will be waiting for you on Lestrade’s desk.”  
  
“How did you..?”  
  
“I work with Mycroft.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“Once you get to Lestrade’s desk, make the call and follow his instructions exactly. Make sure the others understand the stakes. I’ll be in touch. Oh, and keep the wallet on you, don’t put it in your coat.” Vic hung up and grabbed her laptop, Sherlock’s wallet, and the mobile phone then left the office behind.  
  
Vic’s focus slipped as a beat of fear shivered down her spine but she shrugged it off as she slipped her hand in the back of her waistband then curled around her favorite, most reliable Glock. She wasn't going to lose another friend, not this one.  
  
She had been through enough with Y/n that she could easily say this woman deserved so much better and yet she never complained and she never gave up. Some people were dealt a shitty hand and they crumbled, but others found a way to thrive pushing themselves to places they wouldn't have gone otherwise and turn out so much better for it, at least in Vic’s opinion. Those were qualities that Vic tended to respect especially from someone who didn’t have the training and didn't sign up for such a dangerous position.  
  
Vic had always been a fighter and she had sensed a kindred spirit in y/n after the few conversations they had. She respected her long before she got the chance to be around her, to have conversations that were both enlightening and infuriating, to truly see how this woman strengthened under pressure and pushed the bounds so her child would not only be safe but still enjoy his childhood. Vic considered her a friend, the closest one she’d had in years, and she wasn't going to lose another one, especially one that made her feel like she could be herself, at least the self she always thought deep down she was. She didn't deserve another loss like that and Y/n sure as hell didn’t deserve to go out by the hands of a sick coward like Moran.  
  
Strong, brave little Will didn't deserve to lose his mother, Sherlock and John didn't deserve to lose another important woman, and Mycroft, as much as the man could drive her through a wall, even he didn't deserve to lose someone that he cared about no matter how much he pretended not to. No. This was one world that Moran would not destroy.  
  
She slipped into the mode that fit like a glove as she reached the bottom of the stairs and pushed out the stairwell door. She was the twenty-nine-year-old working woman with a package to deliver. Her mother always said she was an amazing actress but film, television, theater, and tiny statues given out among fancy garments that probably itched like hell was just not her thing. This was where she thrived, where she found herself in sync with everything around her and used it to complete her role. She tightened the strap of the bag she had grabbed from the locker with the delivery company logo emblazoned on the front and headed for the front door.  
  
The next phase of the plan began when Sherlock picked up his items and made the call but she wasn’t as confident as she had been that late night she and y/n thought up this plan. There wasn’t as much control as she liked but that often happened in cases like these. Too much going on created chaos and the only way to grab ahold of that thread of control again was to set the plan back on track. Once these pieces were dropped off, it was all in Sherlock’s hands and Y/n had always been confident in him.  
  
She heard Y/n’s tired voice in her head as she moved out of the building heading for Scotland Yard, _get this in his hands and I promise it will lead you to me._  
  
“Hang tight, Y/n. We’re coming.”


	27. Chapter 27

Sherlock stirred, feeling consciousness coming back as flashes of images sped through his mind. Reaching Lestrade’s office, tucking his wallet into his pocket and calling the number on the phone just below the picture that made his blood run cold. The voice on the phone giving him an address and he was sure he made it there but he couldn’t remember much more.

He was in a chair, his arms and legs strapped down with some kind of rope, thick and well made. He opened his eyes and felt the pain at the back of his head. With a quick cursory glance, he was in a small room and a tall, dark-haired man was leaning against the wall watching him. “Moran. Moved onto bigger game?”

Moran strolled over and leaned down in front of his face wrapping his left arm around Sherlock's shoulders. He grinned then punched him hard in the stomach. Moran pulled back before Sherlock convulsively bent forward then Moran pressed his forehead to the side of Sherlock's head, “was that the best you had? You’re slipping.”

Sherlock looked him in the eye, “I've never been known for polite conversation.”

Moran laughed and clapped him on the back, “yes. You and Jim had that in common.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, “if finding her is part of the game, it’ll be difficult to play tied up like this. Or did he forget to teach you?”

Moran’s fist collided with his cheek. “You were the game, you always were the game.”

Sherlock worked his jaw checking for any possible fractures then Moran walked out of the small room. Sherlock counted every step he took trying to map the floor plan but then the steps started back along with a heavy scraping of wood against wood. He dragged a chair in and turned it around before tipping it over. Y/n fell forward and with her hands tied to the arms of the chair, she had nothing to break her fall. Sherlock forced himself not to look away as the sick crunching of her landing reverberated in his skull.

Moran bent down and grabbed the back of the chair. “Oops.” He pulled it up and Sherlock clenched his teeth as he saw her bloodied face and the rust and crimson stains on the once white cloth in her mouth. He could see her trying to deal with the pain without breaking as he studied her features, automatically cataloging the wounds and assessing the extent of the damage but his own past experiences dealing with such pain kept bombarding him. He shook it all off and focused on Moran instead.

Moran knelt in front of her with a glance at Sherlock, “it's a real shame. You did have such a beautiful face, the kind that doesn't stand out until you really look close. But then that was your whole life, wasn't it? Stay in the shadows, stick to higher ground. It's a great survival strategy but then your path ultimately led to Sherlock. Was it the serial killer thing?”

He stood up and turned to Sherlock, “she’s not much of a talker until you really warm her up. Did you know about her uni days? It's quite fascinating, really.” He walked around her chair and rested his hands on her shoulders. Her eyes were still downcast but Sherlock noticed the bulging jaw muscles when he touched her. Her jaw wasn't broken.

“She did a study on serial killers at university, was it just at Oxford or did the obsession start back in America? Was it Jack the Ripper? I know he really seems so fancy. Did you know she wasn't supposed to stay? She was only scheduled for two semesters abroad in good ol’ London but then she stayed in this cesspool for whatever stupid reason people stay here.” He leaned down and pressed his cheek against hers watching Sherlock. “Is that what attracted you to Sherlock? That gene that ties so many of us together.” His smile broadened, Sherlock got the distinct feeling that he was missing the joke.

Her gaze finally came up and met Sherlock’s, the fire there was unmistakable. Moran pushed his bottom lip out as his gaze returned to her, “don’t worry. I’m sure he never told you he was always attracted to the ones with a subtle beauty, it was the intelligence that intrigued him and then captured him completely. And foreigners. He liked the different ones the best.” Moran turned his head to face Sherlock with that Cheshire grin again.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he studied Moran’s bone structure.

Y/n pulled her head away from Moran and he turned back to her leaning closer, “aw love, you didn’t think you were the…” She snapped her head into his face and he pulled back cursing as he covered his nose.

Sherlock’s smile faltered when she wouldn't meet his gaze, she just kept staring at Moran but the hit caused its own damage to her too. Her head wasn’t as still as it used to be, she was having a hard time keeping it up. Moran pulled his hands away from his nose revealing the flowing blood.

“Was that really called for? I guess I did tie you up first and didn’t give you a chance to answer. How rude of me when we’ve moved passed that.” He untied the strip of cloth that she immediately spit out. The corners of her mouth were caked in blood and the amount of staining on the cloth told an unsavory story. “Was it the serial killer thing? It was, wasn't it?” He picked up the cloth and used it to mop up his own blood. “He always exudes this air that he doesn't care but we know differently, don't we?”

She laughed but it was too scratchy and airy, showing signs of vocal chord damage. Sherlock examined her throat and saw the bruising in between and around the dried blood. “How did Moriarty ever trust you to carry out anything?” Her voice was strained and barely the sound he knew.

Moran stepped back, “that’s cute, Doctor.” She smirked and he leaned down, “did he ever call you doctor during the act? A guy like Sherlock must have some interesting quirks when it comes to sex. Or was it just one experiment that led to little Will? To be honest, I didn't think he’d know what to do.”

“How original.” She sneered, “did you really think that would make us uncomfortable? You’re even more out of your depth than I thought but then you are just a soldier.”

He backhanded her across the face and she laughed again. “I always carry out my mission.” He chuckled, “this is much more fun. You’re a mouthy one, I like it. Perhaps I’ll have to change the formula next time to give more chances for conversation.”

Her gaze darted away obviously shaken by his words but then she countered, changing the subject. “What about John outside of Bart’s?”

“That was a different circumstance.”

“Because it wasn't about Moriarty but your fake sister. Love is such a funny thing, wouldn't you agree, Sherlock?” She glanced at Sherlock before focusing back on Moran, “Moriarty is dead so, is dear Elizabeth Moran running things now?”

“You think you know so much when you know nothing.” He grabbed a handful of hair at the top of her head and yanked her head back forcing her to look up at him. “He’s here for you! For love!”

“You didn't do your homework. Why are you still playing the game?”

Sherlock was internally yelling for her to stop when Moran leaned down until his face was right above hers and Sherlock felt his blood boil.

“Jim was my friend.”

“James Moriarty didn't have the ability to make attachments. You were his employee.”

His other hand clapped over her throat and squeezed. “That’s rich coming from you, the woman who fell in love with the famous crime-solving psychopath.” The veins in his forearm began to bulge as his grip tightened with each word. “Do you tell yourself that every time he slips between your legs?”

“She can't answer if you crush her windpipe,” Sherlock spoke in a controlled, even tone but his voice had lowered to a deeper register.

Moran released her throat and hair then spun around. “Funny. I thought you couldn't make attachments.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I'm a high functioning…” His gaze fell on her as she dragged in a few tortured breaths. “I have a few sociopathic tendencies. She’s right, you didn’t do your research.”

Her head lifted enough for her gaze to meet his. “Because he's just... a lackey blindly following orders.” She turned her focus to Moran. “What would... your sister think?” Her voice was barely there and Sherlock’s heart began to knock against his chest. He had no idea what she was trying to do but her pallor only accentuated the bluish tint in her lips. She dragged in a deep rattling breath, “finishing a lunatic’s work... for what? Money? She must be so…” she faltered and her brow furrowed, “she loved him. She loved Moriarty?” Her eyes moved as she read his face, “and you hated her for it. Is that who you saw every time you hurt me?”

Moran pulled a gun from the back of his waistband. “That's a lovely speech. Except you’ve got one very big detail wrong.”

“It's not about money.” Sherlock spat with a strong need to draw the gun away from her, “that would be way too dull for a military man. You needed the action. You needed a reason to use the skills you'd spent an entire life honing. Civilian life didn't suit you and what else was a decorated sniper supposed to do? Get a job with another government controlled organization? No, you weren't going to be forced out by another overpaid idiot who climbed the ladder by brown-nosing the right people and found your methods to be out of their realm of decency. Or did they just kick you out to rid themselves of further questions and embarrassment?”

He cocked the gun and pressed the muzzle against Sherlock’s forehead. “You know he fawned over your brilliance. He was so obsessed with you after that first contact, it should be embarrassing to see you poke around in the dark looking for the pattern, for the clues that should be there. This was after all Moriarty’s game so there must be some meaning in every little thing! But here you are with nothing but some facts you were able to dredge up about me that I laid out for you to find. I spun you in circles and watched you dance and spiral down until I was sure you would figure it out, that it would start to feel familiar. I think Mycroft had a thought or two but here you are right where I want you. Spouting out things like they're truth, just like the old days. Although I must admit, shooting Magnussen, that one impressed me. I thought for sure Mycroft would’ve done it but you stepped up for yourself. Or was it for her?”

Sherlock watched him, not giving an inch, “the old days?”

“He's here because I needed him to be, you short-sighted prick.” Moran pivoted and aimed the gun at her knee. She laughed but it was more eerie spurts of air, “you can't... even carry out your mission... because you can’t burn his heart out.”

Moran’s angry gaze flicked over to Sherlock who stared at her, his face blank. Moran looked down at her, his smile curling into a sneer, “you’re all I need. Sherlock never hid his favorite things very well. Of course, he’s gotten better at it, but for someone who knows him, it wasn’t that hard.”

Her brow scrunched for a split second before her eyes widened and she murmured something that sounded like brush strokes. Then she shook her head and grit her teeth. “All you did... was give me exactly what I needed. His face the last I see and I’ll die knowing he beat you.” She smiled with crimson covered teeth, “Moriarty would be turning in his grave if he wasn't burning in hell.”

Moran grinned as he lowered the gun and glanced at Sherlock before swiping a hand across her mouth wiping the blood away. “Why do you still think he had anything to do with you being here? Oh Moriarty had plans, so many plans and I let him play but he knew that I would fulfill his promise to Sherlock. One of us would anyway. But for me, it was always about Mycroft and Sherlock. Eurus was always so fixated on Sherlock.” She stared into his eyes but gave nothing away. 

He turned to Sherlock appraising him, “she doesn’t even have a clue but I can see it on your face, you’re starting to wonder. Is it possible? Could he really be? It’s amazing what a great surgeon can do, erase hereditary features and ugly reminders. Not that you could remember with your funny memories but Mycroft certainly would’ve figured it out. It’s easy enough to change eye color these days.” He pressed his middle finger just under his eye, pulling the skin down before sticking his pointer finger on his eye and pinching it with his thumb, easily removing the brown contact lens revealing the cold blue. “Allow a boy who was thrown away to grow into a very accomplished man.”

“Sherrinford?”

His eyes danced, “there’s a name I haven’t heard in years. Sebastian just has such a better ring to it. Oh, baby brother, it’s so good to see that look on your face again. Did you honestly think that Moriarty just happened to stumble upon you and learn everything there was to know about the Holmes brothers? I mean John’s blog wasn’t that great and you always liked to give the real detectives the credit before he came along. No, no,” He leaned down and clenched his teeth, “brother mine. I knew you would love him. You were getting so bored and I thought it was time you met a new friend. Of course, Mycroft with the surprise move of letting him meet Eurus just made his year. Who’d of thought I get to see my twinsie again?”

Sherlock spat, “thrown away? Uncle Rudy placed you somewhere so you wouldn’t kill again but... you weren’t clever enough back then for that kind of setup, were you?”

“Oh please, still crying over Redbeard?” His grin twisted into a scowl. “Are you still whinging over your poor doggy?”

Sherlock bit down on his first remark, needing to gather more data about the man in front of him before he revealed his own hand. “You were always sick. It just took them too long to see through your perfect facade. I always had to give you that, you were an excellent actor.”

“Yes, Mycroft and Sherlock were always so jealous of their brother they told so many nasty lies and Mummy didn’t believe them.” Sherrinford turned back to her and squatted down in front of her chair, leaning into her. “Did he tell you about Redbeard, his best friend forever?”

“The animal torture started young then?”

He cackled as he stood up, “she really is adorable. I can see what you and Mycroft like about her. And she gave me such an adorable little nephew. It’s a shame Eurus was too sentimental to use her because she has an amazing tolerance for pain. But Eurus just couldn’t bare to cut you that deeply. She never did have the balls after you fell apart last time.”

Y/n glanced furtively at Sherlock before looking up, “you are nothing. Blood doesn’t make you family.”

He pulled out his phone and pressed a number with a smirk, “wrong again, _love_.”

She flashed a weak smile, “you have nothing.”

“Peters. Send a picture of your target.” His smirk faltered as his gaze flicked down to hers.

“Funny thing about love and hate. You know better... never let your heart rule your head.” Sherrinford stormed from the room and she dropped her head taking deep breaths that rattled with a sickening sound. “I don't have... I can't…” She heaved her head up and met his gaze. “Do you have your wallet on you?”

There was a loud crash in the other room and he glanced at the closed door.

“Sherlock.” Her eyelids started drooping, “tell me...you still… the picture...”

His brow furrowed and then he remembered the picture of her and Will at the lake and nodded, “yes.” He remembered rubbing his finger over her face before placing it back in the wallet and getting out of the cab.

“On you?” He felt the wallet in his pocket and nodded. She let out a sigh of relief. “Remember… I taught… different forms… love?” Her head started to lower again. “I never… tol you. Pla… Philia. Best kind. You gave me... Thank.”

“Stay with me!”

She lifted her head with difficulty and smiled but it was too faint, the muscles barely moving to lift her lips. “thank… protecting’im. No win. He madesure… any move… innercircle. Will neeyou.”

Sherlock pulled against his binds, “this is not over. You don’t…”

“Teach him... teacyou. Love him, for me?”

“What are you… No. NO.” He strained against the chair as her head lowered to her shoulder. ”Control the pain!”

She moved her head side to side but the movement was too slow and her head was sinking forward again, “You needed… I thought maybe… I'm sosorry.”

“Y/n. Look at me!”

Sherrinford stormed back in the room, “HOW?!”

“Never take... eyesoffQueen... ruthless.” She lifted her head again still trying to look more together than she was but she couldn’t hide how bad it was anymore.

Her eyes rolled back and her head fell but Sherrinford slapped her hard across the face before her chin could hit her chest. Sherlock shoved his arms forward and backward trying to get the rope to fray as Sherrinford yelled, “no! You don't get to go yet.” She sucked in a breath but her eyes didn't open and her head fell forward again. Sherlock continued to struggle, ignoring the bite of the rough rope.

Sherrinford’s face twitched, the muscles around his mouth quivering as he leaned into her. “You think you're so clever. Moriarty was clever and look where that got him! He wanted Sherlock to survive and feel all that pain after Eurus dug up the past and shoved him into his darkest secret but then he finds out you put yourself out there and I put a bullet through your heart. Jim told me you would do anything to protect Sherlock but that changed slightly after my nephew came along, didn't it? Going with the logic of Jim’s plan, I should put a bullet through your son’s heart and then yours but I'm not so sentimental and Sherlock Holmes has lived long enough! But William Sean Holmes, he’s a different story. What a poor way to grow up knowing that your mother and father chose a killer over you.”

She barely moved but she forced out a weak, slurred curse. “Fucyou.”

“I will find John and I will put a bullet in his head too. Little Will can grow up just like I did making my own way through the world seeing first hand how people treat the neglected, the toss outs. Then I will come along and show him how things can be just like Lord Moran did for me. First, he’ll learn how you were tortured and then he’ll learn that you could've kept running but instead you got in the game. You just couldn't help yourself. And little Will may even come to thank me one day for making your death slow. What are the chances that he turns to violence after a childhood like that, Doctor?”

Sherrinford was becoming unhinged, his movements rough and jerky as he continued to lean into her. Sherlock scoffed, “he’ll make his own choices based on what he knows and not entirely on what he’s been through.”

Sherrinford turned to his brother, “coming from the man who lived his own life in isolation because he didn't fit in or was it really the childhood trauma that did it?”

“I’m the shadow... you needed... focus on.”

Sherlock watched her, his stomach clenching as he realized what she was saying. Sherrinford turned back and leaned toward her, “what are you mumbling?”

Sherlock spotted the red dot on Sherrinford’s back, “I really wish I could've thrown you out a window or two but this will have to do.” Sherrinford chuckled as he stood to his full height and turned. Sherlock leaned closer eyeing the red dot trailing up from Sherrinford's chest, “I just wanted to see your face when she shoots you.”  

His eyes widened as he stumbled to the side looking down at his chest. Sherlock flinched uncontrollably at the loud crack behind him. The window shattered and when Sherlock opened his eyes, blood poured from between Sherrinford’s fingers wrapped around his own neck. Sherrinford fell to his knees in front of him. Sherlock growled, “game over.”

Sherlock looked back to y/n and found her gaze but what he saw knocked the air from his lungs. 

“Don’t let’im win. Find it, Sher... Let’im love you.” Her eyes fell closed. “I'm so…”

His mouth fell open unable to speak a word or move a muscle. He was stuck knowing what was coming but unable to function. Her chin sunk to her chest and he yelled, “y/n! Control!”

It felt like endless moments of silence as he stared at her willing the rope he pulled against to finally break. Chaos broke out but all Sherlock saw was her unmoving form. He heard his own voice screaming for help and three agents rushed into the room, two swarmed her while the third moved straight for him. The agent bent over to cut the binds on his legs and Sherlock saw the braided red hair he recognized from the alleyway when Y/n left from his fire escape. “Vic?” She looked up with a smile before glancing over at y/n and starting on the rope on his arms. “Where's the ambulance? Medics?”

“They are medics too. The ambulance is only two minutes out.”

She finally cut through the rope and he rushed over to Y/n, pressing his fingers to her carotid artery. The agent kneeling in front of her cutting her binds tried to tell him to back up but Vic silenced him. Sherlock found a thready pulse. “Y/n, don’t let go. Please keep fighting. Control the pain. Remember the room you told me about? Find it, find me. Please.”

“Sher...” It was an airy wisp and a thread inside him pulled tight and thrummed. It lit up his skin as if every nerve ending was screaming.

He grasped her hand and squeezed, “I’m here. Stay with me. Please.” He heard Will’s tired voice in his head, _I stay?_

Her eyelids lifted just a slit. “I never…” She took a rattling breath and he noticed the look between the two agents working on her.

“Do you know if she was stabbed?” The agent on the right had been searching her body but hadn’t removed any clothing except to rip her sleeve off to establish pressure.

Sherlock didn’t look away from her face but shook his head. “No, I didn’t see it but that doesn’t mean…” He leaned in closer to her, “Y/n, you need to…”

The corner of her mouth still encrusted with dried blood lifted as he leaned in. She inhaled before squeezing his hand but it was too weak. “Never tol’you… favorcolor… water… blue. Youreyes… youlook… at Will.” Her words slurred together and every word thrust into his chest like a spike as he filled in the blanks in his head. _My favorite color, water blue like your eyes when you look at Will._

“We’re losing her.” The agent on the left called out and gave Sherlock a look as he nudged him aside.

How could they be losing her she was just… He glanced down and realized her hand no longer held his, he was only squeezing hers harder. He let the agent push him out of the way as they laid her out flat on the floor and began CPR.

Sherlock looked to Vic and her mouth tightened into a thin line before she whispered, “she’s in the best hands until…”

Three sets of rubber soled shoes pounded through the halls and a stretcher rolled into the room.

“I got her!” The agent stopped pressing on her chest and the newcomers moved quickly. One of the medics that ran in with the stretcher placed an oxygen mask over her face and then as one unit they lifted her onto the stretcher. 

Sherlock found himself floating behind them as the agents updated the medics. They rushed her out all the while working around each other with amazing precision like it was just a dance and Sherlock was a simple spectator.

“Jesus Christ!” One of them hissed and Sherlock studied their faces. Each one pressed in concentration until a wince or cringe would break it.

“How did he keep her conscious this long?” One agent whispered to the other.

“Morphine. Had to be. Managed the pain level when he needed to… fuck that’s…”

The medic by Y/n’s head barked, “tell Martin trauma level 1- Adult en route, immediate surgery. Agents, I need you focused.” He glanced at Sherlock as the two agents mumbled apologies.

Outside, flashing lights from the emergency vehicles bathed the alleyway in flashing blue and white as more men in black suits moved efficiently in and around the building. They steered clear of the stretcher and the two walking behind it. Vic held his arm with a fierce grip and pulled him to the ambulance beside the one Y/n was carried toward.

“You won’t help in there. We’ll be right behind her. I promise you I wouldn’t leave her in anyone else’s hands.” Sherlock watched as they lifted her into the back of the ambulance and slammed the doors. “Our ambulance can’t leave until we’re inside and I can look you over so you don’t pass out. Lestrade told me what happened to you, too many bumps to the head in twenty-four hours...”

Vic’s voice faded as Sherlock watched Y/n’s ambulance drive away and that thread inside twisted then dulled as if he could feel her presence leaving his side. Vic pulled him into the ambulance and he didn’t fight. She pushed him onto a chair and slipped something over his arm then shined a light in his eyes but he barely noticed. That tight thread inside finally snapped something important and the numbness that started in his fingers had moved up his arms. Maybe it was the thread itself, but what was the thread and why couldn’t he understand it?

 _A loose thread in the world that needed to be pulled._ The thought whispered across his mind as the ambulance sped out of the alley bumping over a curb. No, some threads shouldn’t be pulled especially when he didn’t know where they connected.


	28. Chapter 28

John arrived at the hospital with Will walking alongside him, one small hand clutching John’s while the other arm was locked around Lorcan. The second Will saw Sherlock in the hall, he released John and took off. Sherlock turned at the patter of small shoes and squatted to catch the energetic ball that slammed into him.

Sherlock closed his eyes as he wrapped his arms around his son savoring the warmth that swelled in his chest. Will squeezed him shoving his face into the side of his neck, “daddy.”

It was a sigh filled with relief and… hope as if everything would be okay now but Sherlock wasn't so sure. For a moment, that warmth that filled him every time he held his son was stifled by the coldest realization he’d ever had; Will’s own mother may not be able to ever hold him like this again.

Sherlock stood and shoved the thought away as hard and fast as he could. He walked over to a small row of chairs against the wall and sat down in the middle still holding Will against him. John stopped in front of him waiting quietly. Sherlock looked up, “Rosie?”

“With Molly. How is she?”

“Still in surgery. Six hours so far.” He could see the argument on John’s face and he raised his hand to stop him, “there was no point. You were needed more with them.” He sighed as John implored him, “a doctor came out not too long ago and said she'd be moved directly into the ICU once they’re finished. They're not sure when she’ll wake up. I got the distinct feeling he wanted to say if.”

John frowned and sat beside him. “Mycroft told me on the way over, it's never twins.”

Sherlock glanced at him then shook his head, “roughly one in 68 births without treatment. I'm not sure about back then.”

Will pulled back and looked up at Sherlock, “did you slay the dragon?”

“What?”

“Uncle myk said you slayed the dragon and saved mama.”

Sherlock glanced at John who shrugged and then spotted Vic strolling down the hall in casual clothes with four cardboard cups in a carrier. Out of her raid gear, she looked nothing like the focused agent that stormed the warehouse. He looked back down at Will with a slight shake of his head, “mama did the saving. She saved us both with a little help from her friends.”

Will beamed, “she's gonna wake up. Don't worry.”

He stared into his son’s eyes radiating nothing but hope and confidence. He thought of Redbeard, of Victor Trevor, and he suddenly wanted to believe there wasn’t another option. She had to wake up. “I hope so too.”

“She never let us down. Too stubborn. That's what uncle myk says. And she promised me.”

Sherlock glanced over at John, who frowned then stared at the ground. Vic stopped in front of them, “anyone want a coffee or hot chocolate?”

Will turned and shouted, “Vic! Did you see mama?”

She knelt down with a smile as she handed the carrier to John who stared at her. “Not yet, kiddo. I know she’d want to see you first.” She pulled the hot chocolate from the carrier and handed it to Will. “Best hot coco in town.”

Sherlock glanced at John with a nod toward the newcomer, “this is Vic. She’s the agent that was helping Y/n.”

John nodded and held out his hand, “thank you for taking care of them.”

Vic grinned as she shook his hand, “it was my pleasure, John. Truly.”

John watched her for a second then shook his head, “of course, you know who I am. How could I be surprised anymore?”

Lestrade walked down the hall with Mycroft at his side. John remarked under his breath about the umbrella back in Mycroft’s hand and Vic whispered, “I've seen him take a man's eye out with it. Do not underestimate the umbrella.”

John snorted then looked at her realizing she wasn't joking. Mycroft stopped in front of Will and Sherlock as Lestrade nodded to John and looked at Vic. John offered before he could ask, “this is Vic. Y/n’s friend and one of Mycroft’s agents.”

Lestrade shook her hand and introduced himself as John turned to Sherlock. He noticed the bags under his eyes and knew he maybe slept for thirty minutes on the helicopter ride back into London and probably hadn't slept since. “Sherlock.” His tired eyes moved up to John’s. “I'm going to see if I can look at her charts, maybe you and Will should try to get some sleep.”

“I'm not leaving.”

Mycroft interceded, “you don't have to. I arranged for her private room to be made up as soon as possible since she’ll be in the ICU for up to a week if not longer, so you will be sleeping there. She’ll be in the operating room for another three to four hours since the other specialist I called just arrived.”

Sherlock stared at his brother in silence and John asked, “what specialist?”

“A world renown neurosurgeon, the best at difficult cases, I pulled a few strings. And England’s top orthopedic trauma surgeon, Dr. Gregson, has been in there the whole time. She’s in the best hands.”

Sherlock met his brother’s gaze and whispered, “thank you.”

“Not on my watch.” The corner of Mycroft’s mouth lifted just slightly before his phone rang. He pulled it out, checked it, then glanced up, “excuse me.” He answered the call and walked away.

Vic pulled a coffee from the carrier and sat down next to Will and Sherlock. “Told ya uncle Myk was a big softie.” Will held up his cup and she bumped her cup with his. “I bet he won't leave until she’s out.” Both Sherlock and John looked at her and she quirked her brow, “what?”

Will hugged Lorcan to his chest and yawned, “big teddy bear. Grandma said he was a teddy bear.”

Sherlock stood up shifting Will for a better hold then took his hot chocolate, “I’ll take Will to the room and let him get some rest.”

John placed the coffee carrier on the chair beside him and stood, “good. That's good. I’ll get you if they tell us anything.” Sherlock nodded with a quick smile then walked to the nurse's station and John slumped back into the chair burying his face in his hands.

“It's not pretty but she can make it, I know she can.”

John lifted his head at the reminder that he wasn't alone. He studied the redhead next to him, her hands fidgeting with the coffee cup her gaze was focused on. “Right. Did you see her?”

She threw a quick glance his way before continuing her vigil with the rotating cup. “Yes. I was one of the first inside but it wasn't until they got her on the stretcher that I could tell… she was in worse shape than… I originally thought. I called Mycroft after I checked over Sherlock.”

He had only heard a few things from Mycroft about the agent assigned to watch Y/n but what he saw on this woman’s face was more than just concern for an assignment. But then Y/n always had that effect on people even when she didn’t notice. “Maybe I should look at her charts.”

She looked at him, “will it really help?”

John paused for a moment and silenced his comment about the pointless activity she was carrying out just for something to do with her hands. He could almost hear y/n admonish him and looked away toward the nurse’s station with a nod, “yes, because I can't deal with another loss. Not right now. I need to know that she can pull through this. I need...”

“Hope.” There was so much understanding in that single quiet syllable. John turned to her and found a sad smile. “A doctor always needs hope. I'm sorry… about your wife.”

John stood up and cleared his throat, “thank you, but it’s not just doctors that need hope.” He started to force his feet to move toward the nurse’s station.

“I’ll be here, if you need anything. She talked about you a lot and if you need a friend… I’m not leaving her side either. And just so you're not… blindsided,” she winced, “there was… a lot of damage but like Mycroft said he called in specialists. The bones will heal and the head trauma… well, the man has performed miracles.”  

John glanced back and nodded before continuing on. At least her charts or scans would distract him for a while, give him something to focus on and maybe he could forget who they were actually for.

~~

It had been a week since Y/n had been admitted and rushed into surgery. Sherlock sat by her bedside in the ICU for four days while she slept peacefully with half her body covered in bandages or casts. Four days he spent hoping the medically induced coma would, in fact, reduce the swelling and keep her brain from being injured any further.

He had been reassured by Mycroft’s specialist that her brain injury would heal nicely and he was confident that she wouldn’t have any life altering effects. Sherlock wasn’t sure he liked the neurosurgeon's cocky attitude but after looking him up, he couldn’t deny his success rate. Until two days ago when she woke up for the first time and didn’t recognize him.

The doctors and nurses continued to reassure him that it was normal and it was highly likely she would regain her memory as she continued to heal. The hospital’s physiatrist came in twice trying to explain amnesia to him but he ignored the man’s prattle and simply held onto her hand. She did begin to remember more things but they didn’t seem to include him, at least not the good memories.

Sherlock continued to walk along the hall getting the exercise the nurse pushed him into so he wouldn’t get bed sores. She had said it with a chuckle but he knew in some respect she was right. He almost bumped into John as he wandered with Y/n’s most recent murmurings clouding his mind.

“Hey,” John grinned, “I just checked her X-rays and scans from this morning and she’s doing great.” His joy faltered and he eyed Sherlock warily, “did something happen?”

Sherlock shook his head, “no. Nothing new anyway.”

John pulled him over to the chairs in a nearby waiting area. “Something’s obviously shaken you.” John sat and Sherlock looked at the seat then turned and began to pace in front of John.

“She’s beginning to remember things.”

“With Mor… Sherrinford?”

“No. She’s been talking… about things when I was… gone.”

“Oh.” Sherlock glanced at him and John dropped his gaze to the floor, “you were gone for over a year, we thought you were dead.”

Sherlock’s pace halted only a chair away from John, “what?”

John looked up but his face was guarded, “what was she saying?”

Sherlock seemed to deflate and dropped into the chair in front of him, scrubbing his face. “She squeezed my hand and thought it was you. She asked if you could get Will. She could hear him crying but she was having a bad morning and needed an extra hour of sleep.” Sherlock closed his eyes and grimaced. “She said she dreamt of me and it felt so real. That you understood.”

John nodded and leaned back in his chair, his hands folding together in his lap. He sighed and looked straight out but his eyes were unfocused.  “Sometimes she would have a hard time getting out of bed after a dream, the good ones could be harder than the bad. After Will was born, it was a little easier because she had something to focus on but as he grew, she would see more and more of you in him. She never completely spaced out but sometimes it would hit her and she would need some time to compartmentalize she called it. By the time Will was six months old, she didn’t have those anymore.” He glanced at Sherlock, “it wasn’t that she didn't still miss you, it just didn't take so much out of her.”

“And you were there for her through it all.”

John nodded and met Sherlock’s gaze, “that’s what friends do.”

“Not all friends would do that much.” Sherlock grabbed his shoulder, “I’m sorry, John. I know I said it so many times but… I didn’t truly understand.”

John patted his back, “she’ll get through this too and when she does recognize you, maybe she’ll give you that long overdue punch in the mouth.”

Sherlock’s vision began to blur and he nodded then took a shaky breath. He squeezed John’s shoulder then let him go. “She’ll get through this.”

“She’s more than strong enough and then she’ll be back at Baker Street. I’ll finally have someone to back me up again.”

Sherlock pressed his hands against his thighs looking across the way at the darkened window. “She told me something before she passed out and I’m afraid I’ll never get to ask her what she meant. If she never remembers me…”

“If she remembers me…” John shook his head, “you already said she remembers you. She’s just slowly getting back to the present and if she’s lucky, she might forget a few recent things or... days.”

Sherlock nodded then stood, clearing his throat. “Were you on the way to her room? I should go check on Will. He was sleeping in the small bed the nurses wheeled in her room for him.”

They walked quietly to her room and Sherlock opened the door. Will had climbed into her bed and was kissing her cheek.

“Careful, buddy.” John stepped into the room. “Mama has a lot of bruises.”

Sherlock watched his son as he looked at John like he was being particularly stupid. Sherlock almost laughed if it wasn't for his own worry that Will might inadvertently hurt her.

“That’s why I was kissing them. I'm helping her get better.”

John glanced at Sherlock before walking over to the bed. Sherlock closed the door and walked around the bed so he came up on the side that Will was on. Will looked at Sherlock, “you should kiss her, daddy. You really make her better.”

Sherlock’s brows shot up, “that only works for…” he glanced at John for help but he just shrugged. “For little boo boos.”

Will rolled his eyes, “I'm not stupid.”

“No one is saying that.” John piped up but Will shook his head with a smirk.

“You don't know, do you?”

“Oh god, that's just…” John gave Sherlock a disapproving look, “that early?”

Sherlock smirked, “what can I say?”

Will sat down carefully next to Y/n and John chuckled as Will gave him a very familiar look although the face was so much smaller. “Kisses release chemcals in the brain make pain go away and pomotes better… ness.” With a single curt nod, he added, “It's brain stuff, Uncle John but you got to mean it or it doesn't work. It's not hocus pocus, it's science.”

Sherlock burst into a wide grin, “really what kind of doctor are you, John?”

John was trying to bite back his smile, “you're turning on me already?”

Will giggled as John leaned over and ruffled his hair. Will grinned as he fixed it, “always new stuff to learn.” Will’s eyes widened and he looked at Sherlock, “my book! in my bag? I brought it for mama. It’s her favorites.”

Sherlock lifted Will’s bag from the floor beside the bed and pulled out an old, well-used book. “New Hampshire by Robert Frost?”

Will reached for it, “Mr. McCormick gave it to mama cuz she burroed it so much.” Sherlock handed it to him without correcting him and he flipped through the pages carefully before stopping and showing it to Sherlock. “Can you read this one? I don't always member it right.”

Sherlock took the book and turned it around as Will snuggled back in beside Y/n. He skimmed through the poem Will had stopped on then glanced at John.

Will giggled, “you have to read it out loud.”

John had already taken the chair beside the bed so Sherlock sat on the small roll away bed and began, “Stopping by woods on a snowy evening.”

He read through it almost hearing Y/n's voice in his head then Will spoke the last four lines from memory right along with him,  **“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,** **But I have promises to keep,** **And miles to go before I sleep,** **And miles to go before I sleep.** ”

They were quiet for a moment then Will asked him to read it again. When he finished, Will’s excited gaze met John’s reserved one, “that means he has lots more to do before he goes to sleep. People he cares about need him so he must purse... veer.” He leaned toward him and whispered, “that means keep going no matters how hard it gets. He’s very strong and brave cuz he got that far so he knows he can make it on for them.”

John nodded and had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could say anything. “You’re right. You've gotten so smart while you were traveling.”

Will beamed at them before asking Sherlock to read more. “Maybe you and Uncle John could take turns?”

Sherlock exchanged a look with John that conveyed more than what the little boy in front of them could understand but Sherlock wasn’t so sure about that. He had to wonder just how perceptive his son was and if he knew how much he had affected them. He cleared his throat and turned the page before continuing with the next poem.

Later that night, after John had gone and Will was asleep on the small bed, Sherlock couldn't sleep or move from the chair. The poems had lulled Will to sleep but not his son’s words, they remained dancing around inside his head. _You should kiss her, daddy. You really make her better._

Will must've heard it from Y/n, picked it up just like he learned the poems, but it couldn't possibly have any effect when the person wasn't awake to feel or see it.

She spoke of oxytocin every now and then explaining different things that it could help with. She called it the trust hormone but that it could do so much more, that it could even help relieve pain and yes, even help the body heal.

_She sat in John’s chair, her hair loose and brushed back behind her ear, a novel open but ignored in her lap as she watched him pace with an easy smile. He was aggravated by a stubborn case and she grabbed his attention with her soft spoken words. “Remember Oxytocin?”_

_“How the hell will a hormone help me?!” He snapped as he turned and glared at her. She didn’t flinch or lose that smile, it actually grew a few inches._

_“That warm feeling you get when you gaze at someone you truly care about and the world suddenly doesn’t seem so dark. Hugging your dog or playing with your favorite pet and that headache bothering you all morning starts to fade.” He took a few steps toward her and stopped in front of the chair. “When you feel like you're being pulled apart at the seams because of stress and a hug or a simple touch from someone,” She touched his hand then curled her fingers around his wrist, “draws you back and helps you breathe again.”_

_He took a deep breath as he fell into her gaze mesmerized by her quiet voice, enchanted by the story she spun. “Oxytocin is much more than just the trust hormone because that connection we crave from others has a chemical reaction that brings us back down to earth when we’re lost, gives relief when we’re in pain, and reminds us that together, it’s possible to get through anything.”_

_“Fantasy,” he whispered._

_She grinned as he leaned down, bracing himself on the arms of the chair as he stopped an inch away from her face. “Then why has your heart slowed and you’re no longer pacing? I would even venture to guess that your line of thinking began to clear before you moved in and got distracted.”_

_“Fantastic.”_

_She smirked, “you said that out loud.”_

 

He stood from the chair and leaned over the bed, brushing his hand gently over her cheek then down her jawline. It was only part of her head not covered by bandages and gauze. He leaned down further and whispered against her lips, “Will believes a kiss could help you heal and I’m betting on our son knowing his stuff.” He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to hers with a silent wish, _please come back to me._

It wasn't much and it wasn't just about him. At least, not completely. All evening he’d been thinking about how much she had grown, the woman she had become since he came back and the woman who’d been protecting and teaching their child on her own. He wanted to get to know her again and to see what little habits she had picked up during her travels. So, maybe it was more about him.

What if she didn't remember? What if she never regained those memories? Did it really matter?

It was only a matter of seconds and he pulled away looking down at the face he loved. A face that had been broken and bruised to such an extent that he shouldn't recognize her but he did and he still saw the beauty beneath. A construct based on childhood impressions and role models... that can be influenced by more intimate knowledge. “I’ll be back in the morning, maybe check in a few times tonight. Good night, love.”

He walked over to the door, pulled it all the way open and then moved to the small bed where Will slept. He pressed the locking mechanism on the wheels and pushed the bed to the door before stopping and looking back at her.

Did it really matter if she remembered? No. He would still love her, still care for her, still pull out all the stops to help her make her way back to… whatever she wanted her normal to be. All that mattered was she was getting better, she was healing, and sometime down the road, she would be able to come home. _I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep._


	29. Chapter 29

Fingernails scratched against Sherlock’s scalp and he jerked. He lifted his head blinking as the light blurry mass took shape, white bed sheets and two long lumps under them. Legs. Her legs. He looked up and his bleary eyes took her in. Her head still wrapped in gauze but not as much as last week, it had been pulled back to her hairline three days ago revealing more healing bruises. Her body’s release of hemoglobin had already broken down to biliverdin giving the worst bruise on the left side of her temple its greenish hue.

A small smile softened her features tinted with yellowing bruises being washed away by the body’s final clearing agent bilirubin. It soothed him only slightly that she would soon be rid of the painful reminders and wouldn’t wince when she looked in the mirror over the sink. Her eyes were clear and she brushed her fingers over his cheek. That familiar burst of warmth in his chest as he drew in an easy breath; she recognized him again. Two weeks since she was admitted and she was recognizing him consistently now.

“Hi,” she croaked with a fleeting wide grin.

He gently captured her hand and squeezed, “morning.”

Her eyes flicked to the window then back and forth between his before confusion colored her expression again and his heart stopped. “Sorry. I…” Her voice was still airy and she kept working her mouth like she was trying to swallow. Her hand went to the small bandages on the left side of her neck but she didn’t seem surprised when she looked at him, she actually looked guilty.

He shook his head as he grabbed the cup of water from the bedside table and brought it over, holding the straw to her mouth, “no apologies. Take it slow. You don’t want to get sick.”

She took several slow sips with a lessening wince each time. His own time in the hospital recovering from a gunshot wound flashed in his mind but that had been nothing compared to what she had endured.

Dr. Gregson’s words bounced around inside his skull again, _she’s been through a lot and it’s going to be a rough road ahead but I’ve seen worse cases than hers turn out great. She will walk again just fine if you keep up the rehab, the sooner we start the better. I hate to say this but she was lucky, they weren’t high energy impact fractures so she’s a lot more likely to recover well. It’s going to hurt like hell but she’s got more than the best chance. Just remember that._

She gave a little nod and he put the cup back on the table. “Come closer.” He studied her and she continued, “please.” Her brow furrowed as her hand moved up to her face then froze, her eyes focused on the bandages around her wrist. Her gaze darted to his and the worry that she would panic tightened his throat but instead her gaze softened and she touched her lips. “This… yours… here.” Her eyes still held the hints of her distress but the corner of her mouth quirked up, “never forgive myself.”

 _Kiss._ The word she couldn’t think of echoed in his head. He shoved away the doctor’s mixed encouragement yet his mind spun with all the questions he’d had over the weeks watching her while she rested quiet and relatively peaceful. Her body slowly healed and the colors that marred her skin became harsher as her body released their chemicals to clear away the mess from broken blood vessels. Some days were harder than others but he could never bring himself to ask anything that might bring back memories he didn’t want her to have when so much good was already hard to remember.

“Sherlock?” His name once again held that familiar warmth and emphasis that always came across for those that mattered most to her. He looked up into her eyes, the only feature that remained the same, urged him forward and carefully he stood, leaned over, and brushed a feather light kiss against her lips. She whined when he pulled away and he chuckled before giving just a little more pressure with the next one. She hummed her approval.

A nurse walked in speaking softly and Sherlock pulled back, moving out of the way so she could check her patient. Y/n’s gaze stayed on him as the nurse went through her mental checklist. The nurses monitored her vitals constantly from their station just outside of the room. He had gotten used to the routine ever since she first woke up. He waited as the nurse finished, still debating with himself if he should try asking. She never lasted very long in the mornings, especially when she woke just as the sky began to lighten and after her therapy in the evenings, she was exhausted even though she fought to stay awake.

The nurse left and he met Y/n’s clear, questioning gaze. “Something on your mind.”

He could still hear the humor in her scratchy croak but glanced away as anger flushed through him for being so transparent. He tried to think of a way to ask without bringing up anything that could hurt her but it seemed impossible. He should scrap it all together but then he met her gaze again. It would only compound her confusion and her frustration at not remembering simple things. She may not remember all of her training but she could still pick up on things without trying. “You said something to me… that I haven’t been able to get out of my head. You said that I gave you philia? Do you know what you meant?”

She smiled with heavy eyes as her fingers brushed over his hand. “I don’t remember much really…” He looked down and turned his hand over so her fingers danced over his palm but his eyes drifted to the healing marks around her wrist, the ones that extended past the gauze and bandages on her right wrist which was far less damaged than her left that was in a cast. The very injuries that added to her exhaustion. She didn’t have much time before her energy would wane and he cursed himself for even asking, but then her fingers stopped. He looked up and her brilliant smile took his breath away.

“But I know that Philia is friendship, mutual goodwill, one of the most… important types of love in my… opinion.” Some words still came slow but at least they were coming back within grasp now. Some more so than others just like when she didn’t recognize him. Her voice pulled him back. “Aristotle thought a friendship formed when… someone was useful, pleasant, and most importantly, was good, clearly rational and virtuous.” She glanced toward the water cup as her voice broke up and became more gravelly. He lifted it to her lips.

“So I gave you a rational and virtuous friendship?” He smirked, he found as much online when he’d searched the word but the search results had confused him. She swallowed then let out an airy laugh with a wince and shifted slightly in the bed. “You should rest.”

She squeezed his hand and stared into his eyes, “friendship based on good…ness with care would lead to companionship and trust. But Plato… believed the best kind of friendship is between lovers.” Her fingers began slow circles on his palm, “a friendship formed with or in Eros… affection… passion, and attraction that bleeds into or blends together with a… beneficial goodness with companionship and trust,” she glanced at the water cup and he brought it back to her lips without moving the hand she was painting invisible circles and infinity symbols on. She sipped with her gaze focused on his hand that had become a canvas. “Then it feeds back into Eros, strengthens and… develops a bond changing it from a lust for possession into a better… understanding of self, lover, and the world around you.” She seemed just slightly above them as she spoke then lifted his hand and intertwined their fingers pressing their palms together. She still hadn’t gained back the full strength in her hands but she was getting better. “A never ending circle that my father believed… created soulmates. Not something that happened right away but something that was sealed over time.”

“And I…” His brows furrowed as his gaze rose to find hers, “gave you that?”

She nodded, her eyelids drooping further and her words starting to slip into that sleepy slur. “Mmhmm. Good friends into lovers, a cycle repeats and strengthens as time passes. It’s one of those rarethings… I never thought I’d have. My dad, a dreamer in his own right, believed in soulmates. He tol’me once… his greatest hope for me… was to truly understand.”

Her eyes fell closed with a sleepy smile still hanging on and Sherlock dropped his gaze to their still slightly linked hands laying on the bed, her words rolling over and over in his head. _A lust for possession into a better understanding of self, lover, and the world._ “I know how that feels.” His gaze shot up but her eyes were still closed and her face had smoothed into a peaceful rest. He leaned down and kissed the back of her hand. “I understand.”

~~

Something was tapping a constant beat against your head. You groaned as you stretched, leaning back in your chair. Your case files were still open on your desk, it was the first notion that something was wrong. You never kept them out overnight. The ache in your back traveled down and your legs felt heavy. “This fucking chair.”

You stood, your stiff muscles complaining and your head spun. You pressed your hands on the desk to steady yourself and glanced around, something wasn’t right. If you simply fell asleep at your desk you wouldn’t feel like this, groggy, aching, and tense, like you had been asleep for days. Your gaze froze on your water bottle. He wouldn't… he wouldn’t be so brazen. Your vision blurred as your chest tightened.

“She doesn’t need to know this right now.”

You snapped your head toward the door but no one was there. The voice was familiar, warm and soothing, but where was it coming from and why didn’t that familiarity come with a name. You moved to the door ignoring the stiff ache in your ankles and hips.

“I agree but things get out and if she…”

Another familiar voice, this one even more muffled than the first as you peeked around the doorway. The long hallway was empty and the lights were too dim, emergency lighting.

“Enough. When she’s stronger…”

The voices were moving further but it was off. It was more like your ears were stuffed with cotton. You shook your head as you grabbed the bat beside your filing cabinets and stepped out into the hallway. It was silent, too silent. What time was it? You lifted your arm and glanced at your wrist. Your breath caught in your chest at the cast covering half your arm but when you blinked, it disappeared. Just another unsettling figment of your imagination. “That sonofabitch drugged me.” Your voice echoed softly off the walls.

Had to be. It was the only explanation but you were not going down without a fight. You crept down the hall with the bat gripped in your hands and resting on your shoulder ready to swing when needed. The first corner you came to was darker than the rest of the hall. You glanced around and squinted from the bright light. It was a spotlight pointed directly at sparkling white double doors. Those fucking doors. Turning the corner, you lifted the bat from your shoulder and gripped it tightly in a ready position as you continued toward the doors you were sure would open any second.

Nothing happened. You waited in front of them with agitated nervous energy flowing through you. “Fuck it.” You ripped open the door and stepped inside. Two blood-red chairs sat on the altar with another shining spotlight producing a glare off the one empty seat but what you saw in the other couldn’t be right. Jay’s voice whispered through the air like a hiss, “believe me, this is something you shouldn’t miss.”

Professor Harding was limp, his arms hanging off the arms of the chair and his legs sticking out in broken angles with his head hanging to the side reaching for his shoulder. The perfectly round red dot in between his eyes staring directly at you. “No.” You fell back a step. “No!” You squeezed your eyes shut as your lungs screamed for air. “It’s not real,” you squeaked.

“Don’t play coy.”

You cleared your throat and gripped the weapon in your hands tighter. “It’s not real.” You felt the safety on the side of your gun and flipped it off then opened your eyes. Everything you had left drained from your body like the oxygen that rushed from your lungs. The second chair was now occupied by Shelly, her body just as doll-like as Professor Harding and the red dot stared like it had movement and choice.  

Jay appeared in front of you but his face was older, his hair different, and his wardrobe greatly upgraded. James Moriarty, the man Jay would become. Those shark eyes devouring you as his lips stretched and you waited for his bite. “I said it was a little too on the nose but,“ he shrugged, “Holmes boys just love the drama and poetry. Either way, I win.”

All four windows behind him shattered outward as pain exploded from your ankles, hips, and wrists then your throat burst into flame. A scream was echoing around the room blending and clashing with the glass and some kind of siren. Suddenly, there was nothing. He was laughing but there was no sound except for the rushing blood in your ears then the tapping against your skull was back only louder and more shrill. The beat sped up and the tapping changed pitch until you realized it was you. You were the tapping, no beeping… your heart beat.

“Y/n. You’re safe, it’s me. I’m here. I’ve got you. Feel my hand, listen to my voice. I’ve got your back. I’m here.”

 _Vic. Shoot him! Do it now!_ You screamed but her stream of reassurance didn’t stop and James continued to laugh.

“Come on, deep breath, love. You’re safe. Everyone’s safe. Open your eyes for me.”

You closed your eyes and sucked in a deep breath. _It’s not real. It’s not real._

“We need to calm her down or she’ll hurt herself.”

Another voice but it wasn’t the one you wanted. What did you want? An earthquake shook the ground and someone was falling off a roof, his coat billowing out and then John was standing in front of you and knelt down, his chest heaving from some exertion and his eyes were wild. _What are you doing?_

“Moriarty. He killed him.” The sob ripped its way through your throat, “Sherlock.”

“No, it’s Vic. Sherlock is coming back in a little while but I need you to wake up. Please. I don’t want them to give you another shot.”

You sucked in a breath and opened your eyes. The room with the red chairs was gone but the bright light remained.

“Hit the lights.”

The room plunged into darkness until the points of light began to clear. The face in front of you slowly came into focus. Fiery red hair pulled back away from a smooth pale face with warm hazel eyes watching you. “Hi.” She held your hand and squeezed, “it was just a dream.” But something flashed across her face, a meaning that seemed just out of your reach.

You glanced around the room as the beeping from the heart monitor slowed then became softer. A quiet constant in the background. Besides the nurse standing anxiously by the monitors, Vic was the only other person in the room and Will’s bed was gone. You met her gaze, “Will?”

“With Mrs. Hudson. Probably Mr. and Mrs. Holmes too. Things have been… stressed. Family is difficult.”

Your tried placing her worries, connecting the dots but it only made the throbbing in your head worse. “Why?”

“They’re so normal and lovely. It’s kind of funny seeing Mycroft and Sherlock with them. They’ve been by here a few times. Do you remember talking with them?” You shook your head and regretted it. Vic grimaced and squeezed your hand again, “right. Sorry.”

She lowered her head but you needed her to continue even though you didn’t completely understand why, “what’s going on?”

She lifted her head, her gaze shooting to the nurse who finished marking something on a chart and left the room. “Eurus hasn’t spoken since… they found her so we don’t know if she knew that Moran was actually Sherrinford but she probably did. What we don’t know is if she knew what he was planning at all. He had Moriarty’s feelers, one in the office like we thought although that Miss Me stunt wasn’t as much of a hack as we thought.”

“Wait, it wasn’t a hack?” It was infuriating to be completely lost one moment and then understand the next but you were trying to let it go. Right now, you were failing.

She grinned as she leaned forward, “the leak in the office.”

“Look at me, seriously?”

She frowned, “you’re no fun when your drugs are wearing out.” She leaned over and looked at your morphine drip settings.

“Stop being such a feckin wagon and get on with it.”

She let out a bark of laughter, “there she is. I was afraid your brain had rewired stuff and I’d never see you again.” She leaned her forearms on the back of her chair with a small smile that held a warmth that reminded you of so many late nights spent together. Cheeks warm from the alcohol and laughter as she taught you her favorite curse words or insults for each of the places you’d been and you shared what quirks you knew would be interesting for her. “It’s nice to see I didn’t lose you.”

Screams shot through your head and you closed your eyes. Sherlock’s shouting then his voice, pleading and agonized, calling, begging for you not to give up. You forced your eyelids up trying to distance yourself from the memory before the pain slipped in. “Nice to see you can still make the shot.”

She smirked then glanced over her shoulder, “you and Mycroft were right and you wouldn’t believe who it was. Or maybe you would, I still remember how you looked at him during that meeting.”

“What meeting?”

“The council meeting that sent Sherlock on his six-month eastern European death sentence?”

It only took a moment to grab the name of the man who held an odd and intense hatred for Sherlock. “Sir Edwin?”

“Yes, that arsehole had been feeding Moran information. Sherlock and Mycroft should be taking him down right about…” she glanced at the old timex on her wrist, “now, actually.”

Your mind was still foggy, lingering and maybe phantom pain mixing with real aches and the drugs to help heal and soothe. You liked to tell yourself that once you are off the drugs it would be easier to think again but you knew it wasn’t just that, the trauma to your brain could have lasting effects. If you were lucky it would get better and only bother you every now and then, but if it didn’t it could impact your daily life. One of the downsides to knowing enough about inner workings of the brain. You had to admit you didn’t know as much about brain trauma as the doctors and nurses who encouraged you and talked about the best outcome. Suddenly, Will’s face flashed in your mind.

Your gaze met Vic’s. “How is he? Truthfully.” Vic’s brow quirked, “Will?”

She smiled, “believe it or not, he took it better than Sherlock and John. He never gave up hope, still the brightest kid I’ve ever met. His only concern is helping you get better faster. He even asked Sherlock to read some of the books he got on your recovery. It’s adorable.”

Once again your son was forced to be older than his age but then he’s always been a child out of his time. He’d been through enough that was for sure… what had you been thinking? If he…

Vic squeezed your hand and you opened your eyes. “None of that. Everyone is safe and Will is going to be just fine. He’s been learning all he can while hanging around the hospital. He’s even visited other wings with some of the nurses.”

You nodded as your vision blurred. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Hey, what’s a friend for, huh? While you’ve been taking your vacation here at least I’ve had that little munchkin to entertain me. Of course, I had to give John his turn.” She grimaced but you could still see the sparkle in her eyes, “I’m not used to sharing.”

~~

Mycroft scanned his badge, pushed open the door to the back chamber, and strode into the room with Sherlock following a step behind.

Lady Smallwood stood from her desk, her intelligent gaze taking in Sherlock before commanding, “you’re late and I don’t recall a request for a guest.”

Mycroft went straight to her while Sherlock continued further into the room toward the two men staring. Mycroft pulled a sealed envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to Lady Smallwood. “Believe me, you’ll want to see this.”

Sherlock stopped barely an inch from Sir Edwin while he stood his ground, the other man backed away. Sherlock remained stoic, “can I borrow your phone?”

He glared, “I’m not going to hand over personal…”

Lady Smallwood looked up from the paper in her hands, “Sir Edwin, you will do as he asks.”

His nostrils flared as he pulled out his phone and handed it over. Sherlock smirked, “not that one.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” His lips narrowed slightly and his brows drew together.

Sherlock leaned in and whispered, “oh, but the anger on your face tells me you certainly do.” Sherlock looked over his shoulder at his brother and Lady Smallwood as he pulled a phone from his own coat pocket, “I love it when they make it more dramatic.” Sherlock unlocked the phone and tapped the screen a few times, “nope. No, no, no,” then he glanced up at Sir Edwin and grinned as he tapped the screen a final time. “Do you know whose mobile this is? Aren’t you curious?”

A beat of silence then a faint buzzing and Sir Edwin jolted, his eyes widened as he glanced at Lady Smallwood and Mycroft.

“What is this?” Lady Smallwood held the papers up toward Sir Edwin, bank records with the name Sir Alfred Porlock written in bold black letters in the top left corner.

Sherlock turned to her, “the trouble with your classified information getting out was not Mrs. Norbury as presumed, at least not most of it.” Lady Smallwood glanced at Mycroft and Sherlock chuckled, “I’m afraid this phone belonged to the man claiming to be Sebastian Moran and it’s currently calling the phone that is buzzing in your associate’s pocket here.”

Sherlock turned back to sir Edwin and stepped up to him, eliminating the small space he had gained while Sherlock was speaking. He leaned down into his face, “someone I care about was tortured very nearly to death because of information you passed off.” The man tried to back away again but Sherlock grabbed his tie and yanked him forward slamming his head into Sir Edwin’s nose. “An offshore bank account with your own codename as a pseudonym? Sloppy.” Sherlock slipped his hand into the inside jacket pocket and pulled out the buzzing phone. “Oh, and thank you for not cooperating.” He turned away from the man bent over with his face buried in his hands and walked over to Lady Smallwood. “I believe you will find this extremely useful.”

“Oh, please do. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” Mycroft’s voice was upbeat but held contempt. Sherlock turned and Mycroft had the end of his umbrella pressed against Sir Edwin’s chest. The short man was staring with unconcealed rage at Sherlock.

“I’d be careful, Porlock. Someone under his protection was hurt by your for-profit treachery.”

Mycroft gave the umbrella a good shove into Sir Edwin’s chest, “a few, actually.”

Lady Smallwood and two men strode over to Mycroft and Sir Edwin. “We’ll take it from here, Mycroft.” She touched his arm and he looked at her, “don’t you have somewhere more important to be? I can finish this.”

Mycroft glanced at Sherlock who nodded. He lowered his umbrella and straightened his jacket. “I trust you’ll see to his care. We wouldn’t want a traitor to the country to die in our custody.” 

She smirked, “there are worst things than death.”

“Indeed.”


	30. Chapter 30

John sat on the couch in his living room bouncing Rosie on his leg. He looked over at Mary with a smile as she brushed her fingers over his hand, she stopped on his wedding ring and he glanced at it.

“I’m so sorry, John.”

But the voice was wrong, it didn’t belong to Mary. Rosie evaporated like smoke then the room melted away until there was just Mary, standing beside him with that smile. _It’s time to wake up._

John pushed off a soft surface and his back hit something solid. The back of a chair. He glanced around feeling the usual deep ache in his chest as he gathered his bearings. His gaze settled on y/n sitting up in her hospital bed, “what?”

Her hand brushed over his hand then her middle finger smoothed over his ring, “I wasn’t really all here before… and when…” her gaze flicked up to his, “I’m so sorry.”

He cleared his throat making doubly sure he wouldn’t sound at all worried about the dry rasp that wasn’t quite yet her voice. “What would you have anything to be sorry about?” He dropped his gaze and forced a laugh, “I’m used to taking care of him by now. I forced him to get some sleep. He was even harder than you were.” His smile faltered when he looked back up, the tear slipping down her cheek and the pain on her face that had nothing to do with her own injuries.

“I’m sorry I… I missed…” She paused and licked her dry lips with a wince, “I wasn’t here… for you. I’m… ”

John gave her hand a gentle squeeze as he lifted the water cup from the table and brought it to her lips tipping just enough for the straw to fall toward her. She sipped and grimaced. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Take it easy.” He glanced at the marks hinting at the damage that used to mar her neck and another hot lash of anger blazed in his chest. She took a few more sips, every one looking easier than the last even though a few more tears coursed down her cheeks. “You wouldn’t have wanted to be here… not then. I…” He could almost feel his fist slamming into Sherlock’s face and he looked away clenching his jaw. “I never want you to see me like that.” He cleared his throat again, “and definitely not Will.”

She squeezed his hand and he met her gaze, the tears in her eyes still building and falling. “I know who you are. We all get a little… lost sometimes.”

“So lost you beat the living hell out of your best friend?” John clenched his jaw and backed away, “I’m sorry. I…” His words trailed off and he tried to swallow away the thickness in his throat. He glanced up and saw the confusion bloom into some kind of comprehension. She was very protective of her boys and he used to be one of them but he had a feeling after she found out what happened before he saved Sherlock she might not feel the same.

He dropped his head and let go of her hand already knowing he should leave but as he leaned back, she grabbed his wrist and held him in place. He forced his gaze to meet hers because he deserved every nasty word and awful look she had to give.

Her eyes were glassy as she stared at him but he couldn’t comprehend why he didn’t see her wrath. He didn’t see the daggers she could so rightly wield with her eyes or the angry set of her jaw that was reserved only for those who truly pushed her too far. What he found instead blew him away.

“You are and always will be my best friend. No matter how much of an ass you turn into, you will still be mine. You need to… cut yourself some slack, you were… grieving, you lost another important person, the most important, I don’t like that it was him but… John, I admired you before I even met you because you are a good man. Nothing you could have done would ever change who you are to me.” A sharp pain burst in his chest. He shook his head working his mouth and looked away before dropping his head again, this time resting his forehead on her hand holding his. Her other hand brushed through his hair as the pain in his chest expanded. “Breathe.”

Her shaky voice was the last shove and he followed her instruction knowing that the simple act of breathing while keeping him alive unleashed the tight grip he held on the mess inside. She didn’t say a word as he retched the emotions he kept so tightly in check just as she had done after Sherlock’s death.

He allowed the memories of her to flow freely, the woman he had missed so much and yet tried so hard not to think of, the friend he yearned to see so many times over the long separation, and the parent he strived and failed to be like.

He tried clearing his throat and pulling himself back together realizing far too late this was no place to fall apart when she was the one healing in a hospital bed. Finally, he started to get his shit together and lifted his head.

She handed him the tissue box. “I’ve wondered ever since those voices started in my head if that’s where the guardian angel thing came from. When people we… respected and trusted take up places in our mind because we don’t trust ourselves sometimes. We think they could’ve done it better.”

“Sherlock told you about…”

She nodded, “I still hear my parents to this day. Sometimes guiding me, soothing me, and it always helps.” She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath that caused some pain to register on her face. “Although sometimes it makes me miss them more.”

“Do you need anything?”

She released and opened her eyes, “she’s beautiful.”

“What?”

“Rosie. Mycroft sent a picture.” She tilted her head, “how is… everything?”

Her voice was gravelly again and he reached for her water cup, not remembering placing it back on the bedside table, then handed it to her. She took it from his hand with a quirked brow. He cleared his throat and pulled together the doctor that should’ve been here in place of the broken man. “Until you get better, things aren’t where they should be. I couldn’t stop thinking of you and Will. You owe me some babysitting hours.” She chuckled then grimaced again. “Sorry,” he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the knuckles that only had a fading mottled yellow left. “You gave us a scare. You’re supposed to be the level-headed one of the bunch.”

She gave a weak smile and he could see the meds starting to drag her back under. Her physical therapy earlier had taken a lot out of her and even though she had made a lot of progress, it would take time before she could walk on her own and a lot more time before she didn’t get exhausted quickly even without the medication. “I missed you and I’ve had enough near losses and actu…” he cleared his throat, “enough for a lifetime. So you dig out of this, you hear me? You have a very active Goddaughter to meet. You rest until fully healed and then no more of this heroic bullshit. Doctor’s orders.”

“Scouts honor.” John leveled her with a look as he took the cup and placed it back on the table. She squeezed his hand. “I missed you too, not the ordering around part,” she smirked but it faded too quickly. “Sorry I missed… so much.”

“Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time to catch up.” He held her hand until her eyes fell closed and the tension in her fingers slowly released. “I missed you more than you can imagine,” he whispered as a memory stirred, dredging up more that he tried to keep locked down.

 

_He danced around her nursery singing the first song that came to him until her murmurs and whimpers finally tapered off. The words flowed through him with Y/n’s voice in his head, both soothing and yet heavy at the same time. Rosie slackened, all the fight drained and she became dead weight in his arms._

_“I’m going to put you down, sweet girl, and you will stay asleep this time. Daddy needs rest too.” He whispered as he bent over the crib and gently laid her down. He stood still and silent watching her for a moment expecting her to start screaming but she remained a quiet, motionless angel._

_With a few steps back, his legs hit the bed and he dropped onto his mattress. Mary scooted up behind him and pressed against his back, her chin came to rest on his shoulder as she slipped her arms around his middle. “I know how much you miss her, how much you wish she could be here. I do too.”_

_He brushed his fingers down her arm. “I jump back and forth… one moment wishing she could see Rosie and worry if she’d still be in danger here and then worrying that she is in danger wherever she is.”_

_“I don’t believe she is. I think she’s clever enough and from what Mycroft told you it sounds like she has some fantastic backup if I do say so myself.” She kissed his neck, “it won’t be forever. She’ll come home and everything will be even better. We won’t have to worry about Sherlock, I won’t have to worry about you, and Rosie will finally meet her Godmother. Will and Rosie will play together. Can you imagine?” Her voice took on a wistful tone, “he probably looks so big now.”_

_John stood and turned around. Mary looked up at him still smiling but confusion drew her brows together. “What a beautiful, blushing mummy.” He leaned down as she giggled and kissed her before following her up to the pillows. He curled around her and kissed her cheek, "I love you."_

~~

It was getting slightly easier to wake with each day that passed. It was better on the days you didn’t jerk awake from a nightmare but you always knew where you were for the most part now.

Soft hospital bed and a scratching noise, pen to paper. A nurse was probably checking your monitors but then it wasn’t the same as writing on your charts, it wasn’t against a clipboard. You opened your eyes and Mycroft was sitting in the chair beside the bed, jotting something down in his little black book.

You leaned over but just before you could touch the book, he snapped it shut and slipped it into his inside jacket pocket. He met your gaze as he clicked the pen closed, “afternoon.”

“It’s not healthy.”

He grinned as he crossed his leg over the other and folded his hands over his knee. “You’re looking much better now that they’ve taken the bandages off your head.”

You didn’t have to try to read him and get frustrated over crossed wires or lost information. You had been waiting for a moment alone with Mycroft since the memory came back three days ago. “Don’t start with me. I know what’s in that book.”

His gaze fell to his hands as he tucked his elbows in and his head tilted down just enough before he caught himself. You could read the moment he realized he was broadcasting his guilt and discomfort then readjusted and relaxed. He worked his mouth a second before meeting your gaze. “Keeping one’s notes close is an essential…”

“Notes or tally?”

He rolled his eyes. “Must we do…”

“Are you going to start keeping a tally for me now? Notes to bring me back from the brink? Writing down all the triggers for the times you failed me?” You looked up at him and his face slackened just before the mask took over again. “You are not responsible…”

He cut in with a low growl, “I am involved.”

“I thought getting involved was never a good idea?”

“Family is different. There’s no choice in the matter.”

“There’s always a choice. What is it about caring that scares you so…”

He scoffed, “scared is not…”

“Cuts you… rebuffs you… repels you. Choose your word but it still remains the same. Is it the responsibility that takes too much brain power away from what you deem important or is it just that uncontrollable pain when they get hurt and you feel the weight of their decisions on your shoulders?” You watched him closely but knew you probably wouldn’t catch it even if he did show anything.

He stared at you working his mouth before replying, “I’m not responsible.”

You grabbed his hand, ignoring the pain that shot up from your wrist, then felt the jolt through his arm as he instinctively pulled back. His gaze dropped to your hand and you almost chuckled at the look of horror that flashed across his face but he didn’t pull away. “That would be really great if you believed a word of it.” His eyes widened. “You still can’t lie to me, Mycroft.” You let go of his hand and he cleared his throat while smoothing the lapels of his suit jacket. “I made my own decision to draw him out, maybe not exactly the way it happened, but I needed it to end before anyone else got hurt and he could do any more damage to Sherlock, to us. You are not responsible for this. We both misread, our assessments were... slightly off. You did everything you could to keep me safe and I would have sacrificed myself for him and Will just like you would have done for us. Don’t try to act like you didn’t think about it but let’s face it, I was a more enticing target.”

He frowned, “I would’ve been able…”

“You weren’t going to talk me out of it. No matter what you said.”

“We could’ve had eyes on you…”

“It wouldn’t have worked. But I want to know why he hated Sherlock so much. What happened that started all this?”

His gaze shifted to the bed as he pressed his hands together then brought his fingers to his chin. His gaze was unfocused, much like Sherlock’s when he was sifting around in his mind palace but this was so much different because of the haunted look that passed over his face. He glanced at you, “do you remember any of...”

“I don’t know, just run it down for me.”

There was a fraction of a grimace then his focus went to a far off distance. “I was six when was Eurus and Sherrinford were born then Sherlock came a year later. We knew Eurus was different very early on but I was the only one who saw how different Sherrinford was. Sherlock was going on three when I caught Sherrinford standing outside of a closet door where Sherlock was locked inside crying. The look on Sherrinford’s face, it was the first time I had seen anything like it. I don’t know if it was just the fact that Sherlock was the most vulnerable but he always preferred him. Maybe I was too old to fall for his tricks or maybe I just understood what he was but I tried to protect Sherlock as much as I could because our mother never believed me, even when Sherlock was old enough to explain. She loved her children so much she couldn’t see what Sherrinford was. Maybe it was because of Eurus’ brilliance that she gave Sherrinford more leeway thinking we were bullying him. I don’t know.”

His fingers laced together. “It wasn’t until Eurus refused to talk to Sherrinford and he seemed terrified to be around her that she began to take us seriously. That was when I started to watch Eurus too. She was always different but not like Sherrinford. I knew what kind of behavior he exhibited so for him to be afraid of her, well.” He sighed, “Eurus began exhibiting her off behavior and when Victor went missing…” he flinched and corrected, “Victor was the boy who Sherlock thought…” He glanced away and brought his hands down to his lap, “it was always easier to go along with Sherlock’s new memory because even for me the truth was too much. My first thought was Sherrinford when the boy went missing but Eurus, I finally saw why Sherrinford was so terrified of her and yet the look on his face as Eurus pushed Sherlock to insanity with her little song…”  Mycroft’s hands clenched into tight fists and he dropped his head taking a deep breath before meeting your gaze again.

You could count the moments on one hand that you had seen beyond the carefully constructed mask Mycroft wore but this was nothing like before. He was that thirteen-year-old boy, stuck between failing to protect his baby brother and wanting to punish the others by any means. “I promised to be there for him but you’ve seen how well I’ve done.”

You leaned forward and touched the back of his hand. He flinched but you turned his fist over resting the back of his hand against your left palm then opened his fist until his hand was flat. A thin scar ran diagonally across his palm and you traced it lightly with your finger. “He told me about this. He said Moriarty told him but… he said Sherrinford scarred you for life and you still couldn’t spare Sherlock from the trauma because Sherlock cared so much about you, it didn’t matter if he couldn’t cut his little brother, you were enough. I think he meant to scare me but he encouraged me. I knew you would never stop, no matter how much Sherlock may hate it, you would never stop fighting for him.”

You let go, giving him the chance to close his hand and pull away but he didn’t. You met his gaze and he was still open and vulnerable. “I know you keep that tally of the number of times you failed your brother amongst other notes in that little black book but they weren’t the moments where you failed him, Mycroft,” you flattened your palm over his, “those were the times that you proved he was never alone.” His wide eyes met your soft gaze. “Thank you.”

He watched you, unflinching and he was speechless but he would never admit it. A knock at the door broke the moment and Mycroft pulled his hand from yours clearing his throat as he rose from his seat. “Don’t worry about the office. It’s all taken care of.” He nodded briskly and turned to the newcomers. “Sherlock. William.”

Sherlock glanced between the two of you as Will rolled his eyes then giggled, “it’s Will, Uncle Myk.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed slightly as he watched his brother. “Mycroft.”

“Try to keep her from overdoing it.” Mycroft strolled to the door passing his brother. He turned in the doorway and looked back at you, “remember that’s classified information. I’ll see you soon to sign off on a few things.”

Will had climbed onto the bottom of the bed and turned towards Mycroft. You grinned as you followed your son’s gaze, “thank you, Uncle Myk.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m not rising to the bait.” But you caught the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth. He started to pull the door closed until Will called out.

“Uncle Myk, wait!”

Mycroft paused and stepped a foot back into the room, “yes?”

His eyes sparkled, “guess what daddy let me do?”

You glanced at Sherlock who suddenly appeared interested in the light fixtures and Mycroft replied, “what did my little brother let you do?”

“Shoot the gun at the wall!”

Your head snapped toward Sherlock, “you what?”

Mycroft laughed, “did you hit the smile?”

“Almost!”

Mycroft grinned at Sherlock, “good luck with that, brother mine.” He closed the door and his laughter faded as he walked down the hall.

Sherlock cleared his throat, “proper gun education is the first rule of gun safety. He was fully supervised. John was even there. Downstairs.”

Will carefully crawled up the mattress, “and I planted my feet but didn’t lock my knees and I never touch the gun without Daddy there. It’s really heavy and will break my face if he didn’t hold it with me.”

You looked at Sherlock failing miserably to hide his smile, “really? That’s all, could just break his face?”

“He knows how dangerous they are in terms of being shot but most don’t realize it could break multiple bones in the face on recoil alone. Besides, we finished the wallpaper and John put the smile up but it still looked so… wrong.” He cleared his throat and glanced at the door, “what was that with Mycroft?”

You studied Sherlock as he finally grabbed the empty seat and pulled it closer to the bed. “Just coming to an understanding, that’s all.”

“You and Mycroft?”

“It’s boring.”

Sherlock smiled, “I’m sure it is.” His hand brushed over the back of yours and you turned it over.

“Can we watch tv?”

“Sure, love. The remote’s right here.” You handed Will the remote from the table and waited for him to find a station that interested him before returning back to Sherlock. “Could you see if Molly would visit? I don’t have her number in the phone Vic gave me and I’d like to ask a favor about those boys if I could.” He dropped his gaze and his brow furrowed. “Sherlock?” You watched him as his gaze rose to meet yours, “what is it?”

“I didn’t tell you what happened at the prison.” He glanced away. “She made me do something unforgivable to Molly or let her die.” You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, “different types of love. I know what Molly feels for me is not what I feel for her.”

“I could talk to her if you don’t feel…”

“If you heard her voice.” The way he choked it out, you knew the circumstances had to have been bad.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I promise.” His gaze met yours and you could feel his pain even more. Shelly’s expressionless face with that almost conscious red dot in between her eyes flashed across your mind and you shoved it away, having to focus on Sherlock to force it further back. “She is very important and she knows that but… her position isn’t an easy one. Just be honest with her.”

“You know something that I don’t?”

“Well, that’s not new territory.”

“A secret?” He noticed you weren’t going to cave or maybe just your internal struggle. He brought your hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to your knuckles without ever breaking eye contact.

The door opened and Mrs. Hudson walked in carrying a vase of flowers. “I brought something to cheer this room up. If they’re not letting you leave, at least we can warm it up a bit.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “it’s easier for her…”

“John is a perfectly good doctor, she could go to his house. It’s ridiculous, really.” She placed the flowers in the corner then came to your side fiddling with the blanket. “They treating you right?”

“You and I both know Mycroft probably threatened something.” You could see that she wanted to hug you but just like the other times she came, she was afraid to hurt you.

_“Oh love, look what you’ve done now.”_

_Mrs. Hudson walked over and fiddled with the blanket and you took her hand, “I know how hard it must’ve been to watch him put himself through that. Sherlock told me you watched a message from Mary with him. I saw him after he got out of the hospital and I was worried but I had no idea what he had put himself through. You put up with a lot for your boys.”_

_She patted your hand, “we do what we have to do for our boys, dear.”_

_“Thank you. Martha. You’re the greatest agent I’ve ever met or a guardian angel. Or maybe just one badass nana.”_

_She lifted her chin, “no clue what you’re speaking of.”  She smirked, “must be the drugs.”_

_“You can hug me, you know. I won’t break.”_

_She chuckled, “oh right. You’re as delusional as they are.” Then she leaned down and kissed your cheek. “London was a bit cloudy without you.”_

_“I missed you too”_

You leaned forward gazing into her eyes, “I won’t break.” She shared a secret smile before giving you a gentle hug while you squeezed a little harder. “He just wants to make sure that everything heals properly, that’s all. And stairs are a bitch. How are you?” Mrs. Hudson started giggling then full-out laughing. You glanced at Sherlock finding a similar confusion,  “what?”

“Oh, no, dear.” She covered her mouth unable to stop, “it’s just… look at the state of you… and you’re asking about me.”

You smiled, “ha ha. Good then?”

She ruffled Will’s hair and smiled. “I’m lovely. I’ve been able to see the babies play together and everyone... almost home. It’s almost back the way it should be.” Sherlock smirked. “Now, I hope you don’t have any plans for supper because I ordered something special and John is going to pick it up.”

Just like that, Mrs. Hudson could make everything feel like it was normal, like it was true; that everything was on track to the way it should be. But what she probably knew and just didn’t say was this was all you needed. Your family happy and together. None of the pain could rob you of that.


	31. Chapter 31

The blinding light was gone but the cold still remained when he revived you back into the gray chamber that would soon become your tomb. You jerked at the sound of his voice. “How much pressure do you think these straps can actually put on your bones?” The metallic ratchet clicks echoed off the walls. “Have you felt any cracking yet?”

His crooked smile came closer blocking out everything else and you tried once again to move your head away. “I’m not used to being so close so you’ll have to give me a hand.”

The room began to spin and your heart slammed against your ribcage that would surely explode at any moment. His menacing eyes grew larger as something clamped down on your chest like a vise. His excitement was palpable, so much so you could smell it in the air and taste it on your lips. He wanted you to know intimately that his would be the last face you see before you die over and over again.

“Y/n. Breathe! You need to breathe!” You jerked up in bed despite the pain throbbing in your sides and gasped, sucking in all the air you could get between the sobs that wracked your body.

Sherlock was there; his bleary blue eyes, his gruff sleepy voice, his strong arms were all working to soothe you but a different voice still echoed around the room as you searched frantically for a steel table and dirty gray walls. _Just like Sherrinford didn’t have to touch him, neither do I. Love._

“Deep breaths with me. Feel my chest, deep breath in, good. Let it out slow. I've got you. I'm here.” Sherlock was trying to reel you back while Moran’s voice bounced around inside your skull, that gray room still lingering around you. _And it’s so much more fun with you, Jim was impressed by you after all. I'm nearly there myself._ Those laughing brown eyes flashed and the screams tore through your head.

You wrenched your eyes open and focused on the dark window. The reflection of your face pressed against Sherlock’s chest. His hand slowly combing through your hair, his fingertips feather-light against your scalp, and his head was tilted down. You looked past the reflection to the dark night outside and wished with every fiber of your being that you could breathe fresh air.

The woman in the reflection finally stopped shaking or at least visibly and her cries began to subside. Sherlock’s heart beat against your ear, it was slightly elevated probably because someone woke him up again. Maybe with kicking and screaming.

“We can watch…” He began to pull away and you grasped onto him tighter. “Another movie. I've got you. I'm not letting go.”

You looked up as the knot in your chest squeezed then swelled. “Sherlock,” you croaked and your vision immediately blurred as more hot tears coursed down your cheeks.

He brushed your hair and rubbed soft circles on your back. “Right here. I'm here, love.”

He held you until the tears dried and the malicious voice in your head finally faded away. The reality that this was a new normal was a suffocating thought. Until you could block or get past the memories that still surfaced in dreams, the voice that still caused you to shake, and the amount of time it could take to move forward was like a noose around your neck slowly cutting off the air the more you thought about it.

“What do you need?” His soothing low tone pulled you from the spiraling thoughts and you sought his gaze.  

“As much as I love the movies you brought, I can't watch another one, not right now.”

“Anything and I'll make it happen.” His blue eyes were bright and determined. You didn't like to admit but it caused a stab of grief and sometimes shame.

You recentered your thoughts on his question and imagined being outside, the thought of cool night air filling your lungs. “I would never make it. Not on those.” You scowled at the crutches leaning against the wall near the bottom of the bed, “they'd kill me before we were out the back door.”

“Out?”

“I need fresh air.”

Sherlock pressed a kiss to your forehead, slipped off the bed, and pulled on the scrub pants he nicked supposedly from a supply closet. “I'll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

He winked then disappeared out the door.

Your head throbbed as the last tendrils of the nightmare lashed out again. The room seemed to shimmer coming in and out and a terrifying thought ambled through your mind. You were still laying on that steel table simply dreaming of Sherlock. It was merely a dream, a brief respite before he woke you again. Regrets playing out in your head for all the times you didn’t hold his hand when you had a chance or simply touch him, feel the heat of his skin or the beat of his heart. What you wouldn’t give to really look into his eyes and feel his touch one more time.

You jumped from the bed and yelped as the pain lanced through your right leg. You grasped the bar at the bottom of the bed. A bar. “Hospital bed. I’m in the hospital. Sherlock is here. Sherrinford is dead. Will… is with John and probably Vic. She promised she would watch over him. They are safe. Everyone is safe. I am safe.” You searched the room convincing yourself further that this wasn’t the dream then grabbed the crutches and hobbled to the door.

The usual discomfort only added to the throbbing in your ankle and hip from that stupid reaction. This was not the dream. You were stronger. The nightmares would fade. You had been getting stronger now that the pelvic fractures were almost completely healed but to be fully functioning without the use of a walking aid would take time to build up the muscle you lost while stuck in the bed.

Because of him, because of Sherrinford. You shook your head to rid the thought and continued your grounding as your lungs began to burn.

The doctor was positive that you'd one day walk easily without an aid thanks to the urgent care, treatment, and the physical therapy they started during your second week. You hadn't lost as much muscle mass as someone who was bedridden for weeks or longer so you were lucky especially with the medication they gave you to help the tendons and ligaments heal but goddamn if it wasn't still hard as hell to fight back to your normal.

You had admitted that maybe you'd have to create a new normal but Dr. Gregson had reminded you that the life of a psychologist and mother wasn't an agent, with determination and hard work you could easily find that normal again with some scars for good stories. Who doesn't love a good story?

He was good but the amount of pain you were in at the time, you hadn't believed him. After six weeks of healing and therapy, you were miles from that screaming pain anytime you shifted in bed. You did feel stronger and the scars only proved it, but you wouldn't necessarily call it a good story.

By the time you made it into the hallway, Sherlock was walking around a corner pushing a wheelchair. You released the breath you were holding and swayed slightly on the crutches, suddenly lightheaded. Sherlock sprinted through the hall with a wide grin and you giggled. The sound was almost as jolting as the sight in front of you.

“I'm sorry but I'm going to take it from here.” He helped you into the chair and placed the crutches back inside the room. “The back garden would be nice. Or were you thinking of going for a joyride?” Sherlock pushed you down the hall and you looked up at him.

“Did you nick this wheelchair?”

He leaned down and his lips brushed your ear. “It was just folded up in the closet with a few other things. It won’t be missed.”

You finally made it to the back door and then onto the rock garden path. He weaved through until you came upon the garden’s fountain and the few benches that circled it.

He lifted you and sat you down on a bench before taking his place at your side. You leaned on him and looked up at the moon taking in a deep breath of the cold night air with a shiver. Sherlock took a small bag off the back of the wheelchair and pulled out a blanket, threw it over his shoulders then wrapped it around you before tucking you into his side.

“You think of everything.”

“Someone needs to look out for you.”

You peered up at his face as you laid your hand over his heart, the beat steady, strong, and familiar. “I thought I did pretty damn well for a long time but it got boring. So I came home and things got a little too interesting. I guess I still need to find my balance.”

He gazed down into your eyes, “you know how crazy that was.”

“You can talk.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. You could see the thoughts and arguments running across his features as he pulled back but instead of voicing any of them he simply said, “I missed this.”

You sighed and touched his cheek. He had let his facial hair grow out again and his scruff tickled your palm. His gaze found yours as you smoothed your hand around to the back of his neck and pulled him down. “More than you could ever admit.” You kissed him letting every ounce of longing and fear speak for you then you let it go and just enjoyed the feel of his lips on yours.

He pulled away just enough to look at your face. His fingers brushed over your cheekbone no longer marred by the one stubborn bruise that finally disappeared two weeks ago. “I thought I had lost you that day.”

“So did I.”

“Maybe we should take a step back from the more dangerous cases. We are parents now.”

“We’ve been parents for years. Well, I have.”

“Yes, but…”

You knew what he meant, saw the fear in his eyes and understood completely. “I know. I'm sorry that I…” he pressed his fingers over your mouth.

“We both did what we thought we had to do.”

“Well, you can be assured there will be no more agent activities for me.” His hand moved to your hair and brushed through until giving just the right amount of pressure to the base of your skull and running down the tense muscles in the back of your neck,  “mmmm. Just a mother, friend, therapist, and lover.”

“Don't sell yourself short.” He lifted your chin, “you are so much more than that.”

You gazed into his eyes lit by the moon and whatever was running through his head. “Like what?”

He leaned in, a breath away from your lips, “I’m not the expert, I can’t explain it but maybe, one day, I can show you.”

“Mmm. I’d like that, sooner rather than later, yeah?” The heat of his breath seeped into your skin spreading down your body like a soft breeze leaving goosebumps in its wake. You waited, staring into his blue eyes, your heart frozen in a beat and the air stuck in your lungs as his lips held you hostage mere inches away. You almost took matters into your own hands when he finally connected you in a searing kiss.

There was no pain, no nightmares, and no whispers of the voice that haunted you. There was only Sherlock and the things he could coax from you with small touches and the simple act of a kiss that healed you more than you could ever explain.

Moments like this were invigorating when you were completely honest with yourself, they were everything.

It was true that you had thought you were saying goodbye to all of this by the time Sherlock showed up. You couldn't remember everything, thankfully your brain had blocked much of your time with the man who haunts you in snippets of memories, some twisted outside of that room. The man that turned out to be Sherrinford. You didn't have all the right data when it came to Moran so of course, your assessment had been off but even through all the pain and hard work it took to get here, you still had hope as long as you had your family. As long as you had moments like this, you could find solace to keep you going.

~~

Physical therapy was the epitome of self-torture. You were never a huge fan of working out but you enjoyed a nice jog and maybe some resistance training or kickboxing. This was a whole other fucking matter. Yay! You survived torture and were healing nicely, even gaining back a good amount of muscle, and you were improving each day but holy shit did that hurt. Despite what the doctors, nurses, and your lovely physical therapist Courtney said, you felt like you were putting yourself through more torture for the sake of getting better.

There was logic to it, even scientifically backed proof this was the only way to get back to some semblance of normal, but even though all of your fractures had healed, your hyperextended tendons and bruised ligaments and muscles still had a shit ton of coaxing left to work like they should. Eight weeks in and you were walking without the help of anything. While it was a hell of a lot easier than last week, those tendons were screaming at you to sit your ass down in a wheelchair and gain more arm strength.

John and Sherlock were both present at your session today, it would usually be one or the other and you knew Sherlock had told John about the nightmares or maybe they discussed it together. There were some vague memories of panic attacks that you didn't know who exactly calmed you down. You had a feeling they made some kind of arrangement for at least one of them to be present just in case you had an attack but you weren't Courtney’s first patient from violent trauma. Something the boys would've known had they asked but you couldn't be mad if they were feeling a touch overprotective. You understood it.

Most times they provided some much needed comic relief because even though you had warned Courtney how Sherlock could be, she didn't quite understand until he was giving you tips on how better to improve and strengthen by doing a certain movement or stretch a specific way. Vic hadn’t been joking when she mentioned he and Will getting their hands on as many books about rehabilitation as they could. Sherlock thought himself an expert now.

You only shared a few comical looks with Courtney today who fully expected his input every now and then and even gave him a little pat on the back for knowing something that she studied for years. He didn’t interrupt as much in the last two weeks and his attention shifted from you to a book, case file, or his phone and once even sitting down and sifting through his mind palace which showed how much he respected her, trusted her. Today, his eyes were on his phone most likely solving a case while continuing to listen to yours.

“You’re looking great. The pain is still more on your right side?” You nodded at Courtney’s encouragement and grimaced with the next step.

“I tweaked it a couple weeks ago with a… sort of fall from the bed. I think I've done it a few times actually.”

A sympathetic smile crossed her face and she gave your hand a quick squeeze. “The good news is you won’t have to use those crutches anymore. I think a cane would work, I can see what we have on hand.”

“I have one.” John insisted.

You smiled at him, “that’s not necessary.”

“Please. If Sherlock can fit it with a recorder to take down a serial killer, I can have it resized for you.”

Courtney gently grasped your arm, “what she meant to say was thank you, John. Now, think you can squat down by yourself?”

“Fuck, no!” John burst out laughing as she helped you down to the floor with a grin. You snapped at John, “shut it, you.” His teary eyes met yours and he clamped his mouth shut which only made him look ridiculous.

Courtney had to bite her lip but quickly fought off her laughter as you leaned forward into your stretch. She was both delightful and tough, exactly what you needed during these sessions because Sherlock and John never would’ve been able to push you through the pain like she did without any hints of desire to hit her. “It’ll keep getting easier but listen to your body. Use the medication when you need it and don't push yourself, you hear me? I know you’ll feel good and think you can do more but if you push yourself too far, believe me, you will pay for it. The pain and exhaustion will hit hard and could be sudden if you push it.”

Today’s session was your last in the hospital because you were finally being released tomorrow afternoon and Courtney would be coming to you weekly. The daily workouts were on you and obviously John and Sherlock since Courtney had been giving them instructions throughout your session. She glanced over at Sherlock before turning her attention to John, “she's a stubborn one so I trust you two will keep an eye on her?”

They both nodded, Sherlock put his phone down and looked completely present for the first time today but John was grinning. “Oh, sure. I bet she will still do it at least once, maybe twice until she learns her lesson.”

You smirked at him, “I'm not the only one with that issue, Dr. Watson.”

“And that’s why it’s a solid bet.”

Courtney shook her head then looked at Sherlock, “Sherlock?”

His gaze shot up from his phone still down by his side where he was typing out something with his thumb. “Yes?”

“You're going to make sure she doesn't push herself?”

He nodded and looked at you with a knowing smile, “if you do, I won't let you go anywhere without me pushing you in a wheelchair for a day or possibly a fortnight.”

You pursed your lips, “point taken.” Then grumbled, “who the hell even says fortnight anymore?”

Courtney chuckled, “I love a man who knows his woman.”

“His woman?” John choked out and Sherlock scoffed at the same time.

Courtney tried clamping her mouth shut but it backfired the moment she saw your raised brow. Her laughter broke through along with a giant raspberry which only furthered the hilarity of the whole thing. It was contagious, the laughter spreading even to Sherlock and that’s what made you lose it.

A warmth washed over you and it swallowed the throbbing in your ankles and the stitch of pain in your sides. You met Sherlock’s gaze, his laughter starting to fade and a brilliant smile lit his face.

“I’m going to miss these daily sessions. I’ll miss you three.” Courtney got out through her deep breaths and remaining giggles.

John was still trying to control his breathing as well, “even when you’re miserable, you still make friends.”

Courtney corrected him, “no, well, yes but actually it’s the three of you. You’re extremely fascinating to watch.”

“Haven’t heard that one in a while,” John cracked.

Sherlock kept your gaze not breaking that contact and the warmth swirled inside you blending nicely with the heat that pulled low in your abdomen. It was such an achingly normal thing that you almost forgot what you were there for. But then, Sherlock and John had a way of making you forget at least for a moment, sometimes more.  

The most important thing Sherlock and your family gave you now was the knowledge that you could still find peace after the trauma. You could still find joy even with the nightmares, the lingering aches, and the pain from healing and fighting back to your proper health.

There was still moments like these, moments when Will made you feel like the luckiest person in the world, when Sherlock stole your breath with a single touch, when John, Vic, and Mrs. Hudson could light up the room and even Mycroft could make you feel like everything was where and how it should be.

You were lucky, just not how Dr. Gregson saw it. It was a feeling of peace that was usually the hardest to get back after trauma. You hadn't counseled that many survivors of violence like this but you'd watched enough sessions to know that was one of the hardest parts of survival. Finding hope and peace in the turmoil.

You were alive and survived something that maybe you shouldn't have but your family didn't give up on you. They never stopped fighting and you weren't about to give up after everything you’d all been through. There was still solace here and there would be more of it in the future. That knowledge, this feeling that beat back the pain and darkness, was invaluable when it came to recovery. It was everything you needed to get through the next few months to fully recover physically and however long it took mentally.

Sherlock walked over and squatted in front of you, his hands grasped yours and he helped you up to your feet. John appeared at your side with a wheelchair and you gave him a thankful smile as you sat down.

Courtney gave you a hug, “I’ll see you in a week. Remember that pain won’t last forever but you need to fight through it to be free of it.

You squeezed her, “I’ll remember. And I’ve got a whole team behind me that won’t let me forget.”

She stood, her gaze flicking to John and Sherlock before coming back to you with a smile. “A great one at that.”


	32. Chapter 32

The sun was still high when you finally zipped up your suitcase and glanced around the recovery room that had been your home for the last four weeks of your eight-week stay at the hospital. Mycroft had pushed it but you had to admit the recovery process had probably been easier here with the weekly visits with Dr. Gregson and the daily physical therapy with Courtney in the same building. Now that all the fractures had completely healed and your tendons, ligaments, and muscles were on their way, you could possibly tackle the stairs with the cane without too much pain. **  
**

You turned at the rap at the door and smiled at John standing in the doorway with his old cane.

“Your ride is here. Are you excited or terrified?” He walked over with a look around the room. “It’s like no one was living here.” You eyed him as he handed you the cane then stuck his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a DVD inside a clear sleeve. “I think this is for you.” He cleared his throat as you took the disc and looked at it, “she left two for us. This arrived yesterday and… I’ve had to stop myself from watching it more than a few times.”

It was a plain white DVD with Godmother scrawled in black sharpie. You looked up at John, “She?”

“Mary.”

Your gaze dropped to the disc again and you ran your fingers over her writing. “How do you know it’s for me?”

“Because of something she said once or twice.” He pulled your laptop out of its bag and placed it on the table. He started it up then turned to go, “I’ll just wait…”

You grasped his wrist and pleaded, “please stay.”

He glanced at the laptop before meeting your gaze, “you’re sure?” You nodded then released him. He picked up the second chair and carried it over next to the one in front of the laptop.

You sat down, loaded the DVD, hit auto play, and waited not quite sure what to expect but all you could hear were those cruel words you threw at her that Christmas that felt so long ago. _We all have demons, Amanda._ The pained look on her face that you had evoked because you knew her deepest weakness. What kind of person lashes out with something that was given in confidence, words shared only because she felt safe enough to open up to you? If only you could take it all back.

Mary’s face filled the screen just as you were about to slap the laptop shut and you gasped. John grabbed your hand and you turned it over then entwined your fingers with his. “Please don’t leave,” you whispered and John replied with a squeeze of your hand.

“Y/n.” Her smile reached her eyes, “I’m sure this is probably a shock to you or well, maybe not, you always were so intuitive when it came to behavior.” She sighed, “there are so many things I wanted to say to you that I didn’t get the chance to but you’ve probably heard them all before so I’m going to use this to tell you what you didn’t hear.”

She looked down and your heart slammed into your ribcage. When her gaze finally came back up, she pulled you in. “I’ve missed you. I missed you so much that I was shocked, believe it or not. And when Rosie came,” she blinked and looked up as she cleared her throat, “I never wanted you around more. When John and I were discussing Godparents I don’t remember which of us said you first,” she let out a watery laugh, “it was probably him, let’s be honest, but you were the first thought in my head. You were always so good with Will and whenever I was struggling, I thought what would she do? What did she do with Will when he’d cry all night or when she thought she may not make it til morning? Of course, you probably never had that thought. You were my inspiration. You were the mother I wanted to be, like my own, if I could ever pull it off.”

She smiled again and wiped away the tears. “So, obviously if you’re seeing this, I’m gone and if I could have my wish, Rosie would have you. Mrs. Hudson, I’m sure will be the fairy godmother that gives her everything she wants, and Molly will probably be a close second, but you would be everything she needs. You are her Godmother, the one I see raising her to be the woman we know she is meant to be.” She swiped at more tears as she chuckled, “motherhood has made me cry more than anything in my life.” She looked into the camera, into you, and her smile faded, “you saw all of me and still wanted to be my friend, still saw me as family. You are everything I would like her to be. Kind, caring, fiercely loyal, protective, forgiving, and most importantly, strong and smart. I never had a friend like you in my life and I am so thankful that John brought you into it. It’s just another thing John Watson gave me that I could never repay him for. The friendship you two have, I want that for Rosie. I want the world for her and I know that you lot will give her that. You, Sherlock, John… and for the love of all that is holy, don’t let John give up on that. Don’t let him give up on love.”

Her face lit up and she didn’t bother to wipe away the tears anymore then something else crossed her features, something darker before she shook her head and refocused on the camera, “please watch over them. I’m sure I probably don’t even have to ask but,” she shrugged, “it’s my last wish and I needed you to know just how special and important you truly are. Thank you for everything.” She was quiet but still gazing into the camera with those soft eyes and her mouth slowly curving into a smile. She was coming to some sort of decision, something solidifying and yet still bittersweet. “Everything.” Another tear fell and then the screen went blue.

You continued to stare as the screen blurred and more warm tears streaked down your face. John squeezed your hand, you turned and studied his watery eyes.

“She’s right.”

You looked up trying to slow the waterfall but it didn’t help. You saw her do the same in your head and suddenly wanted to watch the video again knowing you must’ve misheard, misunderstood. “How… could I?”

“You really didn’t know how much she looked up to you?”

You dropped your gaze and shook your head. “But the things I said to her that Christmas, the cold shoulder I gave her after she shot him. I was so mad.” _Amanda. Next time, I won’t be so quiet._

He sandwiched your hand between his, “she understood your anger but she could never understand how you still called her family. She told me that you said you knew she would always be family and you just needed time. It was the only thing she couldn’t understand because if she was in your place she probably would’ve written her off, fuck her best friend’s opinion. I was better with Rosie and with her as a new mother because of you. She would ask every now and then what you did with Will and that,” he pointed to the screen, “that only proves I wasn’t the only one wishing you were here.”

You stared into his eyes and still couldn’t believe it. You weren’t that great, you still had to learn through trial and error, and you had those nights where you thought you weren’t going to make it til morning. You weren’t perfect or knew what you were doing and the things you said to her… Suddenly, you wished you had the chance to tell her she was perfect, that she was everything Rosie would ever want. “But I…” you shook your head, “she was exactly what Rosie needed. I went through the same thoughts and feelings as she did. I will only ever be second for Rosie, I will never be as good as… her.”

John smiled as a tear rolled down his cheek, “and that’s exactly why she wanted you to be Rosie’s Godmother and apparently, my life coach.”

You barked out a wet laugh, “you’re such a…”

“Arsehole, I know.”

You threw your arms around him and squeezed. “Oh, John. Thank you for bringing this.”

He wrapped his arms around you and patted your back, “thanks for making me stay.” After a beat, he pulled back then grabbed the box of tissues from the bedside table and handed them to you. He stood clearing his throat, “we should get going though because I said I’d have you home in under an hour.“ He slipped your laptop back in its bag as you dried your face. "We don’t need half of Scotland Yard looking for us because we’re late.”

John lifted your suitcase and what he said sunk in. “Who planned the party?”

“Mrs. Hudson and Sher…” his eyes widened as he turned and pointed at you, “you can’t say a word. Shit! They’re going to know. You need to act surprised and don’t go over the top. Christ, she’s going to kill me.”

“Calm down. I’m sure I’m going to be a mess from those stairs anyway, they’ll all be too busy trying to help me to notice.”

“Right.” Some of the color came back to his face and he handed you the cane. “You sure you don’t need the wheelchair?”

You gripped the cane with a glance at you laptop bag, took a deep breath, and met his gaze. “Let’s do this.”

~~

Why in the hell did you ever tell John you could do this? Christ, those stairs were made by satan himself and you had no time to gather yourself before the door opened with a chorus of welcome home.

John led you to his chair and everyone took turns saying hello and whatever else they said that you barely heard over the screaming of your lower half. You smiled and nodded but within ten minutes, Sherlock intervened. He gave you a cup of tea, a pain pill, and suggested maybe you take a breather in the bedroom. Sherlock Holmes not only threw a party for you with Mrs. Hudson but he also read you like an open book and dealt with the crowd. Even though it was made up of family and close friends, still they had no interesting case to give him.

You walked into the kitchen clutching the cane and staring at the floor in front of you. You stopped just before you bumped into someone. “I’m so sorry.” You looked up into Molly’s brown eyes. “Molly, sorry.”

She flashed a shy smile and asked, “are you okay?”

“Yes, just… a bit worn out… maybe a little achy.” Her brow rose. “Okay, more than that, much more.”

“Don’t let me keep you. I was just about to leave. Death never takes time for tea.” She winced, “sorry, that was…”

You touched her arm, “nothing to be sorry about. Thank you so much for all your help with the boys’ gravestones. It really means a lot to me.”

“No, it was my pleasure. Truly. I felt terrible…”

“I know what you mean but still, thank you for all the work you did. I know it wasn’t easy with me being stuck in the hospital. Was that check enough…”

“Oh, please don’t apologize for that.” Molly brushed her fingers through her hair tucking loose pieces behind her ear. “And yes, everything’s covered. They should be buried before Christmas.”

You looked into her eyes and smiled, “when did we get so awkward?”

She giggled softly, “maybe just the time apart and… that body Lestrade and I found…” Her gaze darted away, “I couldn’t imagine another child…”

You grasped her hand and squeezed, “seriously, thank you so much. For everything.”

She blushed and looked down with a shrug, “what are friends for.”

You stepped forward and hugged her. “I’m always here for you, Molly. No matter what. I know we were never that close but you are important. I don’t have many friends but I do count you as one.”

She was still and stiff for a second but then she hugged you. “Likewise.”

You closed your eyes and squeezed her once more. “I’m going to go hide for a little while.” You pulled back, “keep my secret?”

She brightened and nodded, “sure.” She stepped out of your way and you waved before heading to the bedroom hoping you’d make it without seeing anyone else. You hustled past the bathroom and breathed a sigh of relief once you were safely behind the bedroom door.

You sat carefully on the bed then laid back with a deep breath. Those fucking stairs. You were never going to be able to climb them every day. What were you going to do? Hide up in the flat all the time? What the hell were you thinking?

A soft double rap at the door made you freeze and the thought of keeping silent crossed your mind.

“Should I come in or are we feigning sleep?” Mycroft spoke through the door like it was a completely normal occurrence.  

“No.” You winced at the petulant sound in your voice and cleared your throat before responding again, “come in.”

The door opened, Mycroft slipped inside and closed it without a sound. “You’re not usually one to hide from conversation.”

“I just needed a moment.” You didn’t bother sitting up. Laying down just felt too good.

“Did you take your pain medication?”

“Yes, just not soon enough. I didn’t think those stairs would…” You looked at Mycroft, “you know what? Fuck those stairs.” You blew out a frustrated breath then stared up at the ceiling. “I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

Mycroft walked to the window with a glance your way, “good thing I do. I made other arrangements.”

“There’s no way I’m going back to the hospital or a hotel just for an elevator.”

“I have an office on the first floor that was originally a second master bedroom. In light of your… injuries and the lack of options should those limitations extend past your time in the recovery wing, I had it re-furnished as a bedroom. William can stay in one of the other rooms if you so wish and your welcome to stay until you’re back on your feet without pain.”

You studied him then pushed up into a sitting position, “are you serious?”

He turned raising his brow, “am I known to joke?”

“I’m just… not quite sure you’re thinking clearly. You just invited a child to live in your house for an unspecified period of time.”

His open hand slipped into his pocket as he repositioned his umbrella in front of him. “William is not an ordinary child.”

“In some ways he is.”

“He’s family.”

“Mycroft, you don’t have to…”

“I’ve already had the room redecorated and it’s up to you if you would like to accept the offer.”

“I do as long as you’re completely aware what you’re doing.”

“It might be a challenge having my brother around but I think I can survive. I did live with him before.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You fell back on the bed then regretted it as the mattress hit reverberated through your bones down your legs. “I seem to be doing that a lot lately.” 

“Refusing help or gratitude?” He grinned with a look of mischief all his own.

“Thanking people.” You closed your eyes trying to breathe through the pain so he couldn’t read you so easily. His words flowed through you and you amended, “both, actually.”

“Ah, yes. Trauma will do that. Grateful for life and all that. Of course, accepting help was not your strong suit before.”

“Shut it.” He chuckled and you snapped your eyes open. You took your time to really examine him; his stance relaxed, his hand loose around the handle of his umbrella, his mouth curled up at the edges without any tightness and the same went for his brows and the muscles around his eyes. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he was completely at ease as if there was nothing to worry about but this was a man who worked with highly classified information and at any time could be juggling multiple international affairs and/or any number of operations running to protect Queen and country. Yet, he was standing in the bedroom you once shared with his brother as if he had no other place to be in the world. “Was there anything else?”

He grinned, “no. I just wanted to see how far you would take this.”

You threw your arm over your eyes, “I hate you.” But his rolling chuckle made you smile despite yourself. You had to admit it was nice to hear and the fact that you would only have to tackle those stairs once more to get out of here was an amazing thought. Maybe he did have concerns still weighing on him and you didn’t see it because the heaviest one on you was now gone because of him. The relief alone could make everything appear rosy and the fact that the throbbing in your lower half was beginning to dull was making you lean more that way except for one simple fact, Mycroft was laughing.

As the tension seeped from your muscles and the lightness spread through your body, you stopped fighting that full feeling in your chest and the warm tingling flowing out to every inch of your body. It was almost too much but in the best way possible. You didn’t bother hiding your smile as you declared, “to the best brother anyone could ask for.”

His laughter echoed around the room and you joined him.

~~

Sherlock forced a smile as his mother glanced his way in the middle of a conversation with Mrs. Hudson. He had no idea what they were talking about because he was looking over their heads at Courtney who was talking with Vic, John, and Lestrade on the other side of the room. She had noticed that the stairs had taken more out of y/n than they thought too and he wanted to pick her brain but had gotten waylaid by his mother. He turned and grit his teeth against the frustration of being polite and spotted Molly opening the door in the kitchen then stepped to the side and Mycroft walked in. They exchanged a few quiet words then Molly left and Mycroft made his way to the bedroom.

He started for the kitchen watching Mycroft slip into the bedroom wondering what his brother could possibly want to talk about with Y/n but he stopped at the kitchen door, his need to speak with Molly overrode his curiosity. He stepped into the hall and hustled down the stairs. “Molly, wait! Please, wait.”

She paused by the coats hanging from the wall, not bothering to face him. “What is it?”

“I’ve been giving you space because… well, because after… I knew that hurt you. That I hurt you and I… needed to tell you something if you would give me a minute.”

She turned as she slipped her coat on. “One minute, I have to get to work.”

He took a few tentative steps forward then stopped when she stepped back. “You are important to me and I do love you but it’s a love between friends. Different types of love are important and they all have meaning. I just, I wanted to apologize for what happened because I know it hurt…”

Molly crossed her arms over her chest, tucking further into herself. “I know what happened, Sherlock. It’s fine. I’m fine. Is that it?”

“You are fine but I know you’re not fine with this. If… being around me is difficult, I understand. I can make sure that we won’t cross paths when you’re helping Rosie, you won’t have to deal with me. Not at the morgue or lab either. I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want.”

She swiped her hand across her cheek before looking up at him. “I know. I…” She shook her head, “when Greg and I found that body I didn’t think it was her because she was too smart.” She looked away, her eyes flicking up the stairs and down. “She really is a good person… great really and she is always so nice to me and anyone can see how good she is for you, but for a really small moment that morning,” she got quiet and he moved forward, “I wondered what if that was her?” Her gaze flicked up to his, holding him with the obvious torment tightening her brow. “What kind of person does that make me?” She looked away again as a tear ran down her cheek and another quickly followed.

He touched her shoulder gently and when she didn’t pull away, he squeezed. “It makes you human.”

She sniffed and swiped at her cheeks roughly, “right. Unlike the great Sherlock Holmes.”

He pulled her in and hugged her then lowered his voice, “no, Molly Hooper, just like me. Only with less flaws.” She cried quietly for a few minutes and Sherlock didn’t say a word until she pulled away. “I can keep a distance for however long…”

She met his gaze and cut him off, “it’s fine. Really. You don’t have to jump through hoops anymore. I’ll tell you if it’s…” She forced a smile, “I’ll be fine. I made it this far, right?” Then she turned, opened the door, and swept outside. “Bye.”

Sherlock watched the door close then turned and slowly made his way back up the stairs. It would probably still be a little awkward for a while but that would pass just like it always did. Y/n was right, he just needed to be honest because the ones who mattered would understand and the rest… he chuckled as her voice finished the sentence in his head, _fuck ‘em._


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from Ray LaMontagne’s, “You Are The Best Thing” in Bold.

Christmas dinner was going to be the biggest affair in years and you were exiled to the Holmes’ den, not allowed to lift another finger to help. Your bones were completely healed and healed correctly no less with no need for extra surgeries yet Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Hudson had ganged up against you forcing you out like you were an invalid. Just because you grimaced over tweaking your ankle just a bit, that's all it was. The twinges were to be expected, it didn't mean that you had to stop everything and go lay down.

You were a goddamn adult, fully functioning now, you didn’t even need the cane except for occurrences that were becoming more and more rare. They were massaging their lower backs for christ sakes! Mrs. Hudson even smoked a friggin’ joint outside to soothe her hip but you were sidelined over a damn misstep! You sat on the couch and stared into the fire as your blood tried to match its heat.

A quiet mumble from that small lovely voice completely drowned it all out. John stepped through the doorway and Rosie’s face lit up. “Mim!”

She wiggled in John’s arms until he placed her on the floor then her small legs devoured the floor between you. John realized too late that she would jump into your lap but you had already braced for impact and caught her easily. Her arms wrapped around your middle and she snuggled into your chest. Every irritable thought, every nagging ache, everything but the small person clinging to you washed away.

Rosie had been guarded when you met her and became even more so outside of the hospital but you understood after the things she already had to deal with during the first year of her life. She regarded you cautiously every day during those first two weeks when John would bring her by Mycroft’s house to visit and even when you watched her while he was off with Sherlock. But slowly, she began to open up and it was all because of Will. Her connection with your son helped her see you as someone other than a stranger. Ultimately, it was Will and his bond with you that brought around the little girl who now hugged you every chance she got and bloomed like a flower in front of you.

That first time that she snuggled into you was one of those moments you would never forget.

_John stood in the foyer of Mycroft’s house, “Rosie. Come on, time to go.”_

_Will rushed over and hugged him goodbye but she was lingering beside you with her head down. Every time you saw her in that shy stance, it reminded you so much of Will when he was thirteen months old and meeting someone new. You knelt down beside her and whispered, “don't worry. Will is going to miss you too. I know it.”_

_She turned those beautiful shining blue eyes up to you and took your breath away. “Miss you, mim.”_

_She launched herself at you, knocking you over but you held her tight as you rocked to your back ignoring every complaining muscle. “I’ll miss you too, little dove.”_

 

You had no idea where the nickname came from but it fit and stuck ever since just like the one she made for you that no one seemed to know.

“Thought you might like some company.” John sat beside you with a warm smile that you returned.

“Hello, little dove.” You rubbed your nose with Rosie’s when she stretched up and her giggle was like a drug. “Could you get that present for her?” You pointed to the tree and John walked over, picked up the sky blue wrapped present on top of a small pile of purple and pink gifts. He lifted it in question and you nodded, “yup.”

He brought it over and sat down handing the present to you after you situated Rosie in your lap with her back to your stomach. You showed her the edge of the wrapping then let her tear into it, only helping when her ripping got caught by the tape. She patted her hands on the photo book, “daddy!”

You pointed to the picture on the cover of Mary and John holding Rosie. “Mummy, Daddy, and Rosie.”

Her small hand patted the picture and she mumbled, “mummy.” The sound broke your heart.

“Mummy loved you so much.” You opened the book and flipped to the first page with a few pictures of John and Mary in the beginning of their relationship and the second page covered in pictures with each of them with Will as a baby. You and John took turns pointing at pictures and telling a few stories until Rosie became tired and turned, curling up against you as she laid her head on your chest.

You kissed the top of Rosie’s head and flipped a few pages until you got to the picture of Mary with her parents. “How about I tell you a story about Mummy?” Rosie nodded her head against your chest. “When Mummy was little, she was so very loved. She was smart, tough, and stubborn. She moved through the world with her head high and breaking every boundary she could find. When she turned twenty-one, she was offered a bunch of very big jobs. Mummy loved adventure, so she chose the most fun one. Her job took a lot of hard work but after she finished their school, she finally got to go on adventures. She was very good at what she did but she found that those adventures weren’t as fun after a while. She saw things she didn't think about before she was jumping through it.”

“Something very bad happened and Mummy had a choice, to give up her family and go a different, more dangerous route for herself or stay with her family and try as best as she could to keep them safe. Mummy chose to keep her mummy and daddy safe even though she would never get to see them again. Her travels went farther and she buried herself deeper as she went along with what she was good at. But another bad moment came and she had to make a choice, only this time it was a little different, she could continue doing the same thing even though she wasn't truly happy or she could try something different.” You knew by her breathing she was probably asleep but you kept going anyway as you combed your fingers through her hair.

“She once again went on an unknown path but this time, she found something that truly made her happy and gave her a taste of home again, she found daddy. Daddy pulled her into our little family and she loved it so very much. As you get older, I’ll tell you about mummy whenever you want and sometimes maybe when you don’t because your mummy was an extraordinary woman.” You blinked away the tears and kissed Rosie’s head again. “I know you may not understand for a while but we’ll keep her memory alive for you.”

John touched your shoulder, “you…” he cleared his throat, “her parents?”

You looked at him and realized that he didn't know. “They were put into the witness protection program when her CIA cover got compromised. She couldn't take the chance of going with them or ever reaching out to them without the chance of putting them in danger so she had to say goodbye. Her last mark knew her, knew she was coming so she knew the leak was in the CIA. There was only one person she could trust and he put her parents into WITSAC. She found her own route out of the states. She had the hardest time saying goodbye to her mother, that’s why she took her name when she made her new identity.”

“Her mother?”

You nodded, “Mary.”

He looked down at the book, “so… her real name wasn’t Rosamund Mary?”

“Yes, she took Rosamund Mary as her name when she left the states. Amanda Rosamund was her birth name but she never wanted to hear Amanda after she said goodbye to her mother so she took her mother’s name instead.” You winced and had to clear the lump from your throat hearing the way you said her name in this very room. “I always thought it was deeper than that, that she felt she didn't deserve her birth name…”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know what Amanda means?” John shook his head and you looked down at the picture unable to look John in the eye, “it means lovable, worthy of love. I think she felt she didn't deserve the name anymore after putting her parents in danger and she thought she could force herself to be better if she took her mother’s name. I understood that move the most. Maybe that's really why she wanted me as Rosie’s Godmother, to tell her story.”

John wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you to him. “Don't do that. You know better.” You moved the book to the couch with one hand then cradled Rosie with both arms as you leaned your head on John’s chest.

A few stray tears fell as you whispered, “I never got to tell her how strong I thought she was. I… I called her Amanda when I was still mad about Sherlock and I never got to apologize.”

John’s voice was rough and low, “she didn’t need an apology. She knew that you still trusted her... because even though you were mad, you called her family. She knew how highly you regarded that. She told me once she felt lucky that you ever considered her family. And maybe… hearing her name only proved that you loved her.”

John held you and Rosie as your tears continued to fall. His own cries were silent but his chest jutted out with each desperate inhale. After your tears dried, you pulled away and gazed into his eyes. It wasn't the first time you had cried together and it had a hint of nostalgia to it. The last time you were in a position like this, the child in your arms was a boy and something silly had happened but this time, there was no confusion between the two of you. John brushed the hair off your face with a gentle smile. “I should get her to bed.”

John carefully took Rosie from your arms and you picked up the book, closed it on your lap, and touched the picture on the cover. Mary was smiling down at Rosie and John was staring at Mary with a soft grin and a look in his eyes that you could read without trying. “She was so terrified she would lose you. I always wondered if she would ever relax enough to just let go and enjoy it instead of trying to hold onto that perfect facade.” You traced her face with the tip of your finger and closed your eyes, once again angry for being so stubborn. Sherlock and John had forgiven her by that time, why couldn't you?

John cleared his throat, “y/n.” You looked up blinking furiously. “She did… let go. After Christmas, she didn't pretend anymore. She wasn't completely… she didn't tell me about the Amanda thing or what happened to her parents… but she was herself, relaxed, a bit tired after Rosie came, but she was Mary. My Mary. Our Mary but a little more open and if you could've seen her with Rosie…” he smiled, “you would know she was happy. She made... me happy.” Something flashed across his face but he looked down at Rosie and you couldn't read him. “She was a really great mum.” He gave you a grin then turned and walked out of the room.

You put the book down on the couch and wanted to follow him but didn't. Leave it to John to sense your internal conflict and want to soothe it. He was always looking out for you even though this was his first Christmas without her in years. Everyone had been so concerned with you recently, was anyone looking out for him?

You thought about it, searching what you'd seen but maybe didn't observe over the last few days he’d been there. Rosie was the center of attention even with Will. Sherlock was in all respects mostly normal, at least his Christmas normal. He'd been more affectionate with Rosie and you wondered if he would have been the same with Will or more afraid because it was his own son but you shook the thought off immediately.

John needed normal from Sherlock but you were different and it wasn't just the feminine aspect. You had supported each other through an unexpected loss that hit you both hard and then an unexpected life that tilted your axis. Your friendship had been tested and seared in the worst of times and the best of times. It had deepened beyond the normal friendship because you had raised a child together and there were moments of intimacy as parents without any sexual component, even though you may have confused that once.

You sank into those memories when everything had fallen apart and you were pulling things back together with John by your side. When you finally told John about the baby, he had moved back in within a week. You were three months pregnant at the time and told him it wasn't necessary but he wouldn't hear it.

_“John, you don't have to be around all the time! I'm a goddamn adult!” He continued up the stairs with his two bags even though you stood with your hands on your hips in front of the flat door trying to pull off your most intimidating pose. “I will not have you torture yourself because you think I can't handle…”_

_He interrupted you, “I think you can handle it just fine. I am your friend, an adult, a goddamn doctor and I want my room back!”_

_He walked past you and continued up the next flight as you stared at him with narrowed eyes. “I will not be told what to do!”_

_“You will do what is best for the baby and I’ll be here when things go sideways.”_

_“What's that supposed to be mean?” You yelled up the stairs._

_“That I’ll be here when you're frantic and in no state to run out and grab ice cream because the baby will kill you if you don't have it.”_

 

John Watson had become your confidant, your sounding board, your shoulder to cry on, and the trusted hand to grab when the ground felt like it might collapse beneath your feet. After Will came, you had never been more grateful for him. He took turns during those endless nights with Will so you wouldn't be completely wrecked, he changed diapers, and he forced you to take much needed time for yourself. He was still that friend who held you as you broke down over Sherlock’s death but had grown into the one who never let go even when you were screaming mad at each other for impossible reasons.

 

_“Oh yes, you're so important! You sang him a song and changed a nappy! Where's the reward for John bloody caretaker of the year Watson!” A two-month-old Will continued to cry from his travel bed in the corner of the sitting room as you and John faced off in the middle._

_“I've changed a million nappies in the last twenty-four hours alone! You just slept away on the couch and I did everything except pop him on my tit!”_

_“Maybe you should try it! You've become such a wonderful mother maybe you've sprouted milk ducts in those whiny nipples of yours!” You strode to the flat door and opened it, “did you hear that Mrs. Hudson?! John fucking father of the year Watson has sprouted lactating nipples!” You slammed the door closed then stared at it. “If you're so done, why don't you just leave! I never asked for you to be here.” You spun around to face John and your blazing anger faltered. He was staring at you with such a ridiculous expression you couldn't even place it. “What?”_

_John pinched his lips together trying to fight his smile, “I have whiny lactating nipples?”_

_You eyes began to water as you held in your laughter. “Don't you change…” you paused and bit your lip, “what… um, what are we arguing about?”_

_John was the first to burst out laughing and you dissolved into uncontrollable giggles._

The memory of laughter that had stretched on until you were both gasping for air and crying warmed you in a way a fire never could. Will had stopped wailing at some point during your exhaustion-fueled hilarity and stared at the two of you like he'd never seen you before. You both agreed that you shouldn't yell in front of him after that but the moment had become an inside joke, the time you solved uncontrollable crying by screaming nonsense at each other then collapsing like drunken fools. An inside joke that had gotten lost in recent years.

So much had happened during those two years, it wasn't really a surprise when one of your breakdowns over Sherlock had you in John’s arms and ended somewhat awkwardly. Will had turned three months old and as you told him a bedtime story about Sherlock you had dissolved into another mess. You were missing Sherlock and upset that he would never see his beautiful child and know how smart he was. John had heard the sob that slipped past your lips before you clamped them shut and he rushed to the sitting room. His arms were around you, pulling you and Will against him then he brushed his hand through your hair as you let go.

 

_“Shh. It's going to be okay.”_

_“How… can… it ever…?” You whispered in between the hiccuping breaths._

_“Because you are strong and smart and one hell of a woman that it's impossible for it not to be.”_

_You pulled back and gazed into his eyes. The understanding and concern shining there not only stole your breath but sent a wave of goosebumps down your arms. He brushed his hand across your cheek pushing hair off your face and tucked it behind your ear. It was an odd charge that rushed through you, one you hadn't felt in a while. “Thank you for staying, for everything. Really.”_

_“You know I will always be here for you.”_

_“I know.” The air between you felt thin and you followed his move as he leaned in. Your eyes fell closed just before his lips met yours then everything went sideways. It was more than just not having kissed someone in so long and the fact that his lips were so different from Sherlock’s, it just felt… weird. You tried to stop thinking about it but that only made it worse._

_John pulled back and you dropped your gaze, the odd feelings churning in your stomach as a slight panic began to swell._

_“Well, that was…”_

_You met John’s gaze and relief flooded you. “Weird.”_

_He let out a puff of air, “yes. Christ,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I thought I just mucked this whole thing up.”_

_A relieved bubble of laughter floated up, “so did I.”_

_“Who thought we’d be so awful at the part that leads to this situation?” You barked out a laugh and John sniggered while admonishing you, “shh. You'll wake him up.”_

_“I’m going to take him to bed.”_

_“Alright.”_

_You stood up and started across the room then paused and looked over your shoulder, “do you think that’s what Leia and Luke’s kiss felt like?”_

_He grinned, “nerd.”_

The memories washed over you with a warmth that mixed well with the room you sat in. Despite the one awful memory you had here, it was overwhelmingly a place of good things. You opened the book to the pictures of Will with John and Mary. It wasn't long after that when John started telling you about his relatively new nurse and things began to change again as he invited a new person into the mix. As much as you worried that it would change things too much, it only got better. You had loved Mary in your own way. She was such a great fit for John and over time your relationship with her actually grew.

“Shouldn't you be getting to bed too?” You looked up at John standing in the doorway. “Do you want me to pull Sherlock from the kitchen?”

You waved him off, “no. I'm fine. I'm a goddamn adult.”

John's brow furrowed and then recognition bloomed, “well, I'm a goddamn doctor and I say you need your rest.” He walked over to the couch and you dropped the book as you stood up and wrapped your arms around him. He was thrown off but then his arms wrapped around you and squeezed.

You closed your eyes immersed in so many memories when his arms felt like the only things keeping you together. “I love you.”

“Is everything okay?”

“It's going to be. You know I will always be here for you, right? No matter what happens?”

He squeezed you again and tucked his head down onto your shoulder, “yes. I know because I’m not going anywhere.”

You opened your eyes and saw Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway with a cup of tea. You waved her off and her smile grew, “it’s so nice to see everyone together again, just as it should be.”

John released you and smirked, “oh, Mrs. Hudson, amazing as ever.”

She scrunched her face as she walked in handing you the cup of tea but eyeing John. “You're just saying that because you want to drive my car again.”

“Partially true.”

Sherlock walked in with a bottle of pain medicine in his hand and paused, glancing between the three of you, “did I interrupt something?”

“Actually Mrs. Hudson did,” John said as he walked toward him and clapped his back, “you’re just in time.”

Sherlock questioned you silently as Mrs. Hudson laughed. You shook your head with a smile, “she’s being nostalgic or just emotional.”

“Ah,” he glanced at Mrs. Hudson as he made his way to you, “you need to take your medication.”

“Thank you.”

He plucked the tea from you and handed it to Mrs. Hudson before slipping his arms around you and kissed you. “Now, your pill.” He opened the bottle and got one tablet into his palm as you rolled your eyes.

Mrs. Hudson stared at Sherlock not quite as used to his open affection since you got out of the hospital. She gave you the tea again and left the room with a wink your way grinning ear to ear.

You took the pill from Sherlock and knocked it back. After sipping half the cup, you placed it down beside your phone and opened the music player on your phone.

The beginning strings started up and you turned to Sherlock, “can you dance to anything or just the classical stuff?”

You walked over to him as his brows furrowed, “I thought I'd find you in here fuming but… you should be resting.”

You smiled feeling too good to sit. “I need a little more physical therapy, remember? Important part of the healing process.” You took hold of his hand and he slipped his arm around your back.

“You had your workout today.” But he fell easily into a perfect stance.

You moved in a slow sway pulling him a little with a smirk, “loosen up, love.”

He grinned and dipped you. You yelped then laughed. He spun you around and began to sing along. **“I need you here. You clear my mind all the time.”**

You let out a bark of laughter and he grinned.

**“We've come a long way, baby. You know I hope and I pray that you believe me when I say this love will never fade away.”**

You were smiling so much it hurt. “Wow. You really ran with that. Have you been listening to my music while I was gone?” He only grinned in response. “Not bad, for an amateur.”

He pulled you close and leaned down. “No one’s ever called me that.”

“Mm, Sherlock Holmes, I do believe I’ve broken you.”

He brought your hand up to his shoulder then his hand smoothed up your arm over your shoulder and into your hair. “Hmmm.” He leaned down and hummed against your lips as he kissed you. “And we’ve built up something... greater. I can’t tell you how many insights I’ve gained into the human psyche.”

“Your surprises just make it that much more interesting.” You kissed him and his arms tightened.

He pulled away and spun you around. “Mmm. Maybe I should get a second opinion.”

You chuckled as he swayed and the song faded, a slower melody began.

He slowed down but kept you against him. “I was thinking we should get a place out here in the country.”

You laid your head against his chest. “Mm. Maybe somewhere near the water. Will loves the water.”

“You could have a place to write with a view and I could retire from detective work.” You looked up at him with a raised brow. “I saw your pages at the hospital. I think writing your own book is a brilliant idea. You do have unique experience.”

“I was questioning your part of that sentence.”

He pulled back pretending to be offended. “I do have other interests, other important work to do. I am a graduate chemist.”

You eyed him but then shrugged, “might be nice but I don’t know about full time. It gets a little boring, to be honest.”

“Hm. How do you feel about bees?”

“Depends. I don't like their sting. Why?”

“Great strides have been made to show that bee venom can actually be very beneficial.”

“I'm not going to be your test subject.”

Sherlock examined you and you saw a familiar look, he always knew when your energy began to wane and you clung to him just a little tighter. It seemed impossible but he held you closer as he continued to sway. “There was a... time when I was terrified that I would never dance again.”

“In the deepest, darkest part of my mind, I didn't think we’d ever get to do this again either.”

He shook his head and looked away but you knew what he was saying. The quiet fears the two of you had shared hadn’t really faded yet. “There are some things so much worse than death. I had a terrible thought that it had been Moriarty’s plan all along to take everything from me and leave me to my misery. It was something I didn't even want to admit but couldn’t be rid of it either.”

“We wouldn't let that happen and I know what I did was stupid but I couldn't just sit by anymore. Not while my family was hurting.” His arms tightened around you just the slightest bit. “Do you ever... regret letting me in? Letting John in? None of this would’ve…”

His gaze flitted over your face before settling on your eyes. “Never. I could never regret… the events that gave me all this.” You touched his cheek and he closed his eyes tilting his head into your palm. “I think it’s time to get you to bed,” he whispered.

When he opened his eyes there was a gleam there whispering of his intentions. “Okay. Are you going to read me a story?”

He smirked as he scooped you up into his arms. He grabbed your phone but left John's cane by the couch. “Oh, I can do better than that but only if you take it easy.”

You laid your head on his chest, “whatever you say, love.”


	34. Chapter 34

Mrs. Holmes was beaming as she moved around the small groups with tea and crackers. Mr. Holmes, Mycroft, Greg, and Vic were standing in a semi-circle by the Christmas tree in some active discussion and Mrs. Hudson, after being shooed off by Mrs. Holmes, joined Molly and John on the couch playing with Will and Rosie and their favorite toys from this morning.

You watched them from the hallway, leaning against the wall just far enough away that you weren’t immediately visible. You could already hear the speech Mrs. Holmes would end up making at the dinner table, thanking all the people who helped her boys and helped bring her girl home. At least, one of them. Hopefully, that wasn't part of the speech.

You had missed quite a lot while you were in the hospital but you had helped Mrs. Holmes work things out with Mycroft when she came to visit you and Will. Maybe your near death experience did give you a different perspective because you were way more insistent that they work it out before they lose the chance and have to live with that regret the rest of their lives. You knew Mycroft went with his parents when they visited Eurus but he was quiet when he returned and never spoke about it. The past few days had been usual holiday affair so you could only assume that was going to work itself out as much as it could.

A familiar body pressed against your back and his breath tantalized the side of your neck, “need anything?” He pressed a chaste kiss to the skin he teased.

“I am getting a little tired. Maybe I did push myself yesterday.”

“And this morning but that's why I'm here.” He turned you around and guided you through the hallway over to the chair in front of the fire in the sitting room. You sat down and he stood gazing down at you with a funny look. “Sherlock?”

Mr. Holmes walked out of the hall and others followed behind him. You were about to ask if dinner was ready when you realized Sherlock was now kneeling on one knee in front of you. He swallowed and a few other nervous ticks flashed before you looked for his hands and one was in his jacket pocket. You gasped then snapped, “what the fuck are you doing?”

The group coming out of the other room froze and turned toward your louder than you meant outburst just as Sherlock pulled out a small ring box. You were vaguely aware of the crowd watching but you were transfixed by the shiny wine-colored box in Sherlock’s hand. His thumb rubbed over the top and your heart dropped.

“I…” he cleared his throat and looked up into your eyes. “Well, I wanted to tell you that you are more than a distraction and there's something I should've done a long time ago.”

“No! What are you doing?” The room was staring now and you didn't want to make a scene but you were already at the center of it. He opened the box and a huge ring sat inside, the Christmas lights over the mantle reflected off it like some horrible jewelry commercial. Your stomach rolled, “oh god. Put that away!” You pushed back until you couldn't move any further, “Sherlock, what is… do you think I'm mental?! I know you… this isn't!” You glanced around and saw the awkward looks, john’s clenched jaw, and Mycroft’s confusion. Your stomach clenched as you broke out in a sweat and covered your face. “Oh, god. Sherlock, what were you thinking?”

“Nothing to see here! Come on.” Mrs. Holmes’s cheery voice rang out and Mrs. Hudson joined her trying to herd everyone from the room.

Sherlock pulled your hand away from your face and you peeked out fearing you were going to throw up all over him. His grin was wide and his eyes were glittering like this was all just a weird dream but they faltered when he searched your face. You glanced at your arm and thought about pinching yourself.

“Y/n.” His voice was quiet and had a tremble that could be too many things to pinpoint without context from his point of view.

“Mama! Daddy!!” Will pushed through the group that Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Hudson were trying but failing to usher from the room. Will skipped up to you and Sherlock with a small, simple white box in one hand and Lorcan in the other. “Here. It's a Christmas pressie from Daddy and me.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked back at Sherlock and caught him trying not to laugh. “You jackass!” You smacked his arm and he had been holding in his laughter so hard that tears were gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“I thought you might recognize it and ruin everything.” He glanced down at the couch beside you.

You looked down at the ring box and realized what he was talking about; it was the ring he used on Jeanine. You rolled your eyes and turned back to Will who held out his hand with the white box perched on his palm. He opened it and a small titanium band was cradled inside. “It's our symbol of love, Mama. The circle is never ending and it's simple like things that make you happy but it's really strong just like you.”

Your gaze shot up to Sherlock and his smile had changed, softened, as did his eyes. You looked back at Will and your vision blurred. “Oh, love. It's perfect.”

Will grinned up at you, bouncing lightly on his toes, “just like you.”

A watery laugh broke your lips. “Like you, my love.” You pulled him onto your lap and hugged him while pressing a kiss to his forehead then looked over his head to Sherlock. He was examining your face, studying every inch even though he knew every line, curve, and shadow well. It was something he had done so many times before, an action that drew you in and lit your skin on fire, but this time there was something different. The detective in him was searching for any clue of what your face might tell him or maybe he was memorizing it again but the love shining in his eyes pierced you right down to the marrow of your bones. His gaze finally met yours and that normal heat he sparked was overwhelmed by a sudden weightlessness and yet so much was swelling and swirling inside, you might burst.

Will pulled back and held the box out toward Sherlock who ripped his gaze from yours to pull the ring from its bed and then immediately connected with your eyes again as he took your left hand in his. “Just so everyone can see you are loved.” He slipped the ring on your ring finger without breaking that eye contact. “Plato’s best kind.”

“Forever and ever,” Will added.

“You don't have to wear it on that finger if you don't want to,” Sherlock smirked.

You stared into his eyes as too much to catalog went haywire inside you. “I could throttle you.”

A smattering of laughter reminded you that you weren't alone and you glanced around. The cheering and applause erupted. You blushed and ducked your head. Sherlock leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek and Will giggled as he was pressed in between the two of you. Sherlock whispered near your ear, “it's just family. They've known longer than I did.”

You chuckled and caught his gaze as he backed up just enough to see you. Will wiggled out from between you, “cake! Nana, grandma! Where's the cake?”

“Dinner first, poppet.” Mrs. Holmes clapped in a chop-chop manner, “show’s over, dinner is in the formal dining room. Everyone can help with the dishes. Come on!”

Sherlock’s hand caressed your cheek brushing away the errant tear. “Merry Christmas to me.”

The memory flared to the foreground and you grinned, “excitable puppy.” His eyes flashed and you tried to bite back your grin, “but you're lucky I didn't hit you just for that.”

He smirked, tilting his head with narrowed eyes. “I'd take it just to see that look on your face again. Besides, you know I have a flair for the dramatic.” His brow furrowed, “wait, you did hit me.”

You kissed him and slipped your arms around his neck pulling him closer. The ring pressed into your finger and it was wonderful. You rested your forehead against his. “That was just a tap.”

“Mmmm.” He hummed against your lips, “I’m lucky then.”

~~

After dinner, you were shooed away from cleanup, handed a cup of tea, and sent off with Molly and Rosie. You settled by the fire in the living room and conversation with Molly was easy again until Rosie had fallen asleep in her arms. She smiled with a soft congratulations as she stood from the chair. You read her face and were delighted not to find any indication of sadness.  You thanked her and she carried Rosie off to put her down in the extra bedroom John was using during his stay.

You were left alone in a chair you had occupied before with a different woman across from you and your thoughts were consumed by her, by Mary.

You glanced over at the chair she had occupied while you paced frantically hoping to hear from the boys. You pictured her sitting there with the warm smile and motherly glow she had in her video only now her blonde hair was in soft curls with only a hint of makeup. The silent conversation started like any normal one would with the first thing on your mind. _John and Rosie are using the spare bedroom that Mrs. Holmes had hoped her daughter would use one day when they first bought the place._

She held a steaming cup of tea and smiled at you, _Eurus is brilliant, I’ll give her that but can you imagine if she had any training? Christ, she was able to get John down a well completely unconscious, I mean I could barely drag him from the couch to the bed._ She chuckled but the humor didn't reach her eyes and she dropped her gaze to her teacup where her pointer finger swirled around the rim. _You are right, you know. I don’t believe she would really hurt them either. She may be completely mad but she loved him too much to truly hurt him again._ She smirked with a wink then disappeared as a thrumming filled the room. A thrumming that was too familiar to ignore.

Then you placed it, a helicopter. A shot of panic had you springing from the chair. “Sherlock!”

He strolled into the room dressed in his coat and scarf with a duffle in one hand and another coat in the other. He smiled as he took the cup from your hand and placed it on the table then slipped the coat on you. “Come with me.”

You questioned him silently then realized why he had the duffle. “Are you sure?”

He nodded, “please.”

You recalled Eurus’s face, the look that transformed when she saw you on the street and haunted you until you met her twin days later. “I wouldn't be… a distraction?”

“What did I tell you?”

“I meant for her.”

He shook his head, “we just play violin. I would like it if you came with me.”

“Okay.”

Half of the flight you fidgeted with the end of Sherlock’s old coat until he took your hand in his and brought it to his mouth pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “How are you feeling?” His voice sparked through your headphones and you looked up to see if he was joking but concern was the only thing twisting his features.

“I'm okay, just… nervous. I spotted her while Vic and I were trying to track Moran. She saw me and knew my face. You're the only reason she could've, well, she talked to Moriarty but…” you frowned and Sherlock squeezed your hand.

“Sherrinford said she didn't touch you because she couldn't hurt me, not like that again, whether he was telling the truth or just…” you looked at him and couldn't recall what he was talking about. “It's okay. I’d rather you not remember.”

You nodded then leaned against him and closed your eyes for the rest of the flight. Sherlock shook you gently awake. The helicopter had landed and a man in a suit waited at the door. Sherlock took your hand and didn't let go as you made your way through the facility to Eurus’s room.

The door rotated and slowly you saw the concrete room this woman had been hidden away in. You gasped at the bare cave around you and Sherlock squeezed your hand as he gently pulled you inside. He guided you over to a chair and you sat down watching the woman seated on a simple bench with her back to the glass. Her long dark brown hair hanging without any sign of product. This was not the woman you saw on the street and you hadn't even seen her face yet.

Sherlock pulled out his violin and began to play. Five or so minutes in, she lifted her legs and spun around to sit facing you. You didn't flinch but glanced at Sherlock before meeting her gaze. Her face remained blank as she studied you and you continued to watch her.  She was exuding a slightly vacant look but the intelligence was still clear in her eyes. There was no venom or malice lingering or simmering there like you had seen in Moran... Sherrinford. He never seemed to rest from it, a constant anger or rage brewing just under the surface. You tilted your head wondering what she saw in you.

Another few minutes and she stood, walked over to her bed and picked up her violin. Then moved confidently until she was directly in front of Sherlock in the middle of her room and began to play. They played together for almost an hour as if they'd practiced for years for the concert you watched. When she grew tired, she didn't say a word just nodded at Sherlock with a small smile then walked back to her bed and placed her violin down carefully.

Eurus seemed done with performing and had nothing to find privacy behind so you looked away and watched Sherlock pack his violin back in its case with the same care she showed with less to do. You ignored the movement you caught from the corner of your eye until Sherlock looked up glancing between you and the glass. You turned and found her standing only a few feet away watching you with a furrowed brow. You stood up and walked to the glass trying to look as open and unassuming as possible. “Your music is exquisite. Sherlock had a great teacher.”

Her head tilted to the side and the corner of her mouth rose. She walked forward a few more steps.

Sherlock walked over and stood behind you. “Y/n told me you two have seen each other before.”

You tried to cover your grimace with a smile. She took the last step before the glass and touched her palm to it glancing between the two of you but you had enough of an idea what she could see. Sherlock didn't stand in front of you to shield you or touch you in any way to comfort because it wasn't needed. Him standing behind you said a lot to anyone who understood. Trust. Companionship. Support. He had your back without saying a word but you wondered if she would understand it. From Sherlock’s stories of their time in her experiments, she had a problem understanding without context or really, she just didn't understand human behavior towards each other. “I’d like to come back again if that’s okay with you.”

She studied you then asked quietly, “therapist?”

You shook your head, “no. Just a friend or acquaintance really, it's a bit presumptuous on my part to expect you to think of me as a friend.” You winced at the wording, you sure sounded like a damn therapist.

Her brow furrowed then she turned, walked back to her bed and sat down.

Sherlock touched your lower back guiding you to the door and you walked with him. The whole way through the building you were wondering if you had said the wrong thing, overstepped your bounds. Your escort opened the final locked door and you caught Sherlock’s look silently questioning what was on your mind without forcing it. “I don't think she believed me.”

He shrugged as his hand left your back and took your hand lacing his fingers with yours. “I don't know but that’s the first time she’s talked since that night.” That night, the only words he used to refer to the night he cracked his sister’s code and found the little girl still there not only trapped in a nightmare but a place she didn't recognize.

You glanced at him in disbelief, “what?”

He smiled, “no. I am not trying to make you feel better by lying.”

You rolled your eyes, “you're the king of white lies.”

He halted and his head whipped toward you so fast with such a look of disgust, “I don't think I’ll put any good words in with my sister for you, after all.”

The tension that had seized up your back and half the muscles in your face melted away. You threw your head back and laughed.

Today had been such a whirlwind with maybe a few too many surprises but you felt... good. You weren't worried about your recovery or how the people around you were constantly treating you like a glass sculpture. You weren't admonishing yourself for thinking bad things because the family you loved and cared about so deeply were overbearing at times but simply worried about you.

Sherlock and John understood but they also knew the people around you missed you and caring about you was just par for the course. You caught their smirks and shared glances every now and then and sometimes they'd even push it further. _Look at her, she must be getting tired._ Mrs. Hudson, being used to their games, would laugh but if Mrs. Holmes was around the overprotective mother came out and benched you immediately.

But right now, in this moment, you were light and free. Nothing weighing on your shoulders and no aches dragging you down.

Sherlock squeezed your hand pressing the ring into your fingers sending a thrill through your veins. He lifted your hand to his mouth as you looked at him and he kissed your knuckles. That soft look again, the same one from earlier that sparked every nerve ending inside you. “I love you too,” you whispered.

He stopped and enfolded you in his arms before bending down and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. Sometimes words just weren’t needed but when it came to Sherlock Holmes, this method was preferred.


	35. Chapter 35

A small corner of the table in the sitting room had been taken over by two of your textbooks, a notebook, and a pile of notes. To Sherlock’s credit, he hadn’t complained or said a word about your small workspace beside the chaotic organization of his open casework across the rest of the table. He had kept his things out of that small section where you once again sat reading and scrawling, refining and tweaking as your thoughts raced faster than your hand.

After your third visit to Sherrinford, even though she only spoke one other time, you had a thought that had been stirring and developing into a theory. It took you a few hours to find the right materials in your storage bins in the basement then every chance you got you were going through your books, making notes for everything that could be related, even though you were leaning toward a certain disorder, you didn’t want to pigeonhole her either. Too many had already done that to Eurus and even though you promised you wouldn’t come as a therapist, you couldn’t banish the thought that something had been missed all these years.

Sherlock’s socked feet barely made a sound but you were still aware of his easy stride into the room. You scribbled a notation along with a page number then glanced up. He had picked up his violin and stepped in front of the window but his eyes were on you. “Interesting case?”

Even though he had already approved and encouraged your thought process on his sister, you still felt a hot lash of guilt and something else that had been creeping along the periphery like a shy old friend. “Do you think this would even help? It’s not like anything I find or prove will give her a chance to leave that cave. Nothing I do can absolve her.”

He looked out the window as the violin found its home on his shoulder and he gently touched his bow to the strings but didn’t make a noise. A few seconds ticked by then his chin hugged the chinrest. “I think she’s been in the dark because the people who should have helped her have failed her for far too long.” He met your gaze, “it’s about time someone treated her like more than just a lab animal in a box.” He winked then began to play turning back to the window.

It took longer than it should have to place his reference but you made peace with your mental rehabilitation process and the time that it would take. Professor Harding and Shelly had been victims of Moran grabbing at straws to get you to show your face or maybe they had been a final request from Moriarty but either way, it had been a good thing you didn’t know about their deaths. You had never even thought to check on news from the states, all of your focus had been on Sherlock and John and you couldn’t really predict what you would’ve done had you known that the last sniper victims were the last two people you had contact with in the states.

It still hurt but not as much as it used to when the nightmares starring them would jerk you awake and you’d spend the rest of the night or morning trying to erase the haunting images. While you were still at Mycroft’s house, Sherlock coaxed you from the vivid nightmare’s grip and you finally opened up. He thought it got into your subconscious through a conversation he and Mycroft had outside of your hospital room. He hadn’t wanted to tell you until you were fully recovered and you understood his reasoning because had done the same with the images plaguing you at night so he wouldn’t have something else to worry about. The nightmares didn’t go away completely but you did gain some kind of control over them and they became few and far between before you left for Christmas. You couldn’t recall having one since. At least not with the intensity they used to carry.

Maybe there was something about Eurus that reminded you of Shelly, maybe that’s why you had been so taken with seeing this developing theory to the end. Even if she could never get out of there, she deserved to understand and to be understood. Your theory had been sparked by the person in that cell in the first place because she wasn’t the woman you saw on the street and she wasn’t the woman you saw on the tapes at Sherrinford.

The loud creak on the middle step of the staircase alerted you both to a guest. Sherlock only paused for a second before continuing to play and you briefly wondered if he was expecting anyone because you were sure John was with Vic today. There was only one set of footsteps then the distinct tap of a cane or rather an umbrella.

You glanced at the doorway from the corner of your eye and tried to recall if it had been open when you shuffled out just before dawn. Mycroft finally stepped through the doorway, “hard at work this morning?”

You turned to him with a smile but it faded at the all-business stance along with the stiff look. “Good morning. Coffee?”

He placed his umbrella in front of him and rested both hands on the handle as his gaze blazed at Sherlock’s back. “I’ve been told you’ve been taking a guest on these regular trips to Sherrinford.”

You tried to intervene, “Mycroft.”

“This is serious!” Mycroft snapped and the violin screeched before the tense silence.

Sherlock turned from the window bringing his violin down to his side, “there’s no reason for that.”

“There’s no reason for sneaking around.”

Mycroft was angrier than he should be and you couldn’t pinpoint why. “She’s a human being. She…”

“She’s a murderer!”

“She’s family!” Sherlock spit back.

“Yes, and we’ve seen first-hand what that means to her.”

Both men were now glaring at each other and you were surprised they had kept the distance between them. Mycroft’s contempt was so deep it was difficult to see past it now. He was just a child when the whole situation was put into play and he was only working off the belief that was placed in him along with the pain and fear that he experienced. You didn’t know exactly what he and his mother discussed but you’d been around him enough to know that he still didn’t forgive Eurus and at this point, it was unlikely he ever would. But she didn’t need forgiveness, she needed understanding. She needed to be treated like a human being.

You thought of the little girl you heard on the tapes from their hours spent inside Sherrinford and how Eurus used the ruse of a phone line when she allowed the child out. The stirrings of a theory as you watched her force them through different experiments to study their reactions to each stimulus. How the cold, detached woman shot an outsider just because she was the most important person to the man who controlled her captivity for so long and the polar opposite you heard in that scared and lost tiny voice.

“You’ve tried Uncle Rudy’s way, how well did that play out?” You reeled yourself back hearing that old anger seeping through each word. You walked over to Mycroft and laid your hand on his arm, “I’m sure he thought he was doing the right thing but plenty of doctors used that excuse for decades when there was no research, they gave out the only diagnosis they had. Have you ever stopped to wonder if your sister just became what she was told for years that she was? You were told this was the only way, you were just a teenager and uncle Rudy had no idea what he was dealing with. At the time, honestly, most psychologists probably wouldn’t have either but it’s different now.”

He inspected you, “you have a theory.”

You met his gaze and wanted to convince him, you just weren’t sure of what yet. “She’s still a child, partly, she’s that little girl. Her love for Sherlock was possessive, that love could’ve been corrupted without knowing, without understanding it became an obsession, very much like a stalker. She was a highly intelligent child who wanted to play with her brother and when she didn’t gain the possession of her object of desire, she took away what she perceived as the thing holding her back from it. Instead of dealing with that obsession, with the genius who would cut into her own skin to understand the inner workings, instead of helping her understand what that was and helping her move past it or learn a healthier or better way, she was locked up. That obsession with Sherlock never paled, she only became more set on it.”

You watched him file the information without a trace of revealing his own thought on the matter, you turned and looked through the window. “Years of forced solitude is more than cruel but worse is the problem was only allowed to grow and fester. I’m sure she saw a kindred spirit in Moriarty and reached out to him because of it. They were both obsessed with Sherlock and if he shared with her his desire for Sherlock to be him, to feel what it was like… She was given just another example of her own condition that made it more normal, made her more normal.” You looked over your shoulder and met his gaze, “she will never be released but she might be able to find peace and understanding, something that, if diagnosed and treated earlier, could’ve avoided all of this. We can never know for sure but you have to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

“What do you mean she’s still… a child?”

“It’s very possible that the little sister you knew is still in there after what happened at Musgrave,” you glanced at Sherlock, “she may have fragmented, the scared little girl that couldn’t handle what she had done to her brother and the intelligent, cold hearted person you’ve been talking to for… possibly since she was sent away, maybe before. Dissociative identity, one separate from the scared little girl… with the way that Sherlock described finding her in Musgrave… and what I saw on the tapes from Sherrinford…”

“I thought you didn’t miss a thing? You’re…” He stopped short and disgust twisted his features as he looked down and away. The disgust clearly wasn’t directed at you, he was going to say you were slipping and he hated himself for it. You were at least eighty percent sure.

“You can see everything, Mycroft but you still don’t know why or how… without context, those emotions could mean too many things.”

“What?” Mycroft paled then shut down and the word Eurus used in the tapes played in your head.

You winced, “I have theories, I believe your sister may have dissociative identity disorder but that’s not enough for a diagnosis. You know my methods, you know it takes more than just a look. There are too many variables.” His jaw clenched and he looked away, “even you saw how she reacted when Sherlock turned the gun on himself in that locked room instead of shooting you. She couldn’t bare for him to be taken away from her and maybe that was the little girl grappling for control, I don’t know. Did you ever wonder if Sherrinford’s hatred for her and delight in torturing Sherlock was because he knew she loved Sherlock more than the lot of you? It’s also possible that she had fragmented even earlier and Sherrinford liked the cold hearted Eurus and tried to bring her out. Did she ever get upset when you called her Eurus or ask you to call her something else?”

His shoulders tensed and his eyes were hard when they met yours again, “and the alternative? Maybe she didn’t involve you or Will because if she wiped you off the board, he would be dead already and she wouldn’t be able to delight over his torture. You can’t underestimate her just because you always want to help the different ones especially the ones you feel have been slighted in some way.” He turned to the window, his jaw clenching and relaxing in a far too measured way.

He was right, it was something that lingered in your mind while you researched, the fact that if she truly was a psychopath instead of just one of her alters then she could play you by knowing enough of your past. The very thought had fed your doubt that had been wreaking havoc during research and at other moments. You softened your tone, “she will never be released, we won’t allow her to hurt anyone else, and she will never be able to hurt him again. Just give us a chance.”

He turned back and studied you but didn’t flash any sign of what was going on in his head.

“She spoke to her,” Sherlock added.

“What?”

“Eurus spoke to Y/n. It wasn’t much either time but I could see her thinking about what Y/n said. I’ve never seen anything on her face unless she was playing and reacting to the music.”

He turned away and looked out the window again. You glanced at Sherlock and noticed Will standing in the kitchen doorway watching Mycroft with concentration. Before you could say anything he walked across the room toward his uncle. “Will…”

Mycroft turned toward his approaching nephew then Will stopped in front of him and grasped his hand, “uncle Myk.”

Mycroft squatted down with a smile, one reserved mainly for his nephew, “you shouldn’t be bothered with this…”

Will squeezed Mycroft’s hand with both of his small ones, “every person has a story but we can’t know if we can’t listen.”

Your eyes widened and your gaze shot to Sherlock. He was already watching you, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He pointed at you and nodded.

“Love you, Uncle Myk.”

You tried swallowing the lump in your throat as you looked back at your son who was hugging his uncle. Mycroft’s wide gaze was on you. You realized what Will had seen that you hadn’t. Mycroft wasn’t just afraid of what she could do to Sherlock, but how she could hurt or affect Will, maybe somehow make him fear the rest of his family. The possible scenarios were endless and you couldn’t tell what exactly he feared but it directly connected to Will.

Mycroft’s mask was down and his vulnerability was almost blinding. “I wasn’t going to stop you. I just wanted to warn you and maybe… I should be there sometimes. I could make sure she wasn’t trying to manipulate you. She may not hurt Sherlock but she has no problem eliminating the rest of us. No more guests.” His glance to Will was clear, his fear palpable. Will did look enough like Sherlock at that age to cause worry, to give credence to Mycroft’s distress.

Sherlock scoffed but you nodded, never losing Mycroft’s gaze, “if you would like to. I won’t argue.” You glanced at Will, “we won’t let that happen. No one else will get hurt, not on our watch. Isn’t that right, uncle Myk?”

Will beamed up at him and Mycroft stood ruffling his hair. “Precisely.”

~~

 

_We grow, evolve, adapt, and change. If we don’t continue on after disaster, through the trials and hardships and learn from them, if we don’t adapt and change through the stages we all go through, then we stagnate and lose what keeps us going. We can lose what makes us… us._

_We are all human moving through life searching for what feels right in that time and place. We’re all sifting through the mess that life can be and deep down, most of us are seeking connections; bonds that make us thrive, that make us happy, that fill the holes of what has been broken away by past hardship. Family, friends, and lovers. Some connections don’t last, some never forge, and some are cemented forever, but all serve their purpose in the greater scheme._

_All of these types of bonds can be for the best or the worst and it can take time to weed out the ones that break us even more but when we’re lucky, at least one or some of those will be a bond that not only never breaks but helps to sever the poisoned ones. Those are the connections that make us stronger, bring us joy, and truly make the worst obstacles in life bearable. When you find those connections, protect them, nurture them, and above all, enjoy them because no matter how strong you are there will come a time when you need those people to get you through the day or night or even longer._

_During your darkest night when the moon is nowhere to be seen, the stars will shine even brighter. Savor the bonds that give you life and light the way home because while the fear of death is survival, the fear of life is deadly._

 

You stared at those last two sentences biting your bottom lip and wrinkling your nose not quite sure what was bothering you.

“Still writing?” Sherlock rubbed your shoulders and looked at your laptop screen.

You leaned back and sighed as he worked out knots you hadn’t realized were building. “I can already hear what you’re going to say.” With a dramatic flair of your hands, you continued, “all life is pathetic and futile, we reach and grasp but what is left in our hands at the end?” You tilted your head back with a smirk.

He leaned down and his lips brushed against to your ear, “yes but that was before someone changed the script. I have more than John’s stories now, I have an inner circle, a legacy, and a woman who manages to confound me even when I can least explain it.” He pressed a kiss to your neck.

You stretched your head to the side, “I’ve told you it’s something much more powerful than emotion or sentiment.” He kissed again, this time sucking slightly on that one spot that stoked something deeper, waking something primal that couldn’t be ignored.

“Sherlock Holmes, are you trying to distract me or seduce me?”

“I thought they were one in the same?” You turned your head and kissed him. His hands traveled down your arms and captured your wrists as he whispered against your mouth, “what is this power you have over me?”

“I hold nothing over you but I do have something with you.” His brows rose in a comical irritation then he spun the chair, smiling at your sharp gasp and pulled you to your feet. He took your seat and tugged you forward until you climbed onto his lap. “A connection, like a live wire, that binds us together. A force that can withstand time and separation.”

He smirked, “fanciful science fiction.” 

His fingers were painting invisible designs up your arms, the game was already on. The two of you had been playing it for years but more often and with a greater intent since your extended stay in the hospital or more likely due to the experiences just before that. “How do I still confound you and draw you in? You say you know the chemistry of love but do you truly understand?” You slipped your right hand along his neck until your fingers rested over his carotid artery. His eyes flashed delight along with the tug of a smirk. You brushed your left palm softly over the back of his hand and slowly advanced the feather light touch of your fingers up his arm. “Why does a simple touch cause your pulse to increase, your pupils to dilate?” You leaned in without losing eye contact, “it’s not that dark in here, Mr. Holmes. You should have that checked.” You winked, feeling the steadily rising pulse against your fingers matching your own.

“My body’s betraying me.”

“No, I just know how to speak its language.”

He watched you as his smile grew then he turned his head enough to glance at the computer screen, “what’s it called?”

“I was thinking A study in Connection. Or A breakdown of the psychology inside the adventures of Holmes and Watson.” He grimaced. “Yeah, I thought the connection one was better. And it’s all because of you. Not that you need any more flattery.”

“Mmm. I tend to inspire all sorts of blogs.”

“Not the book. Me.” His gaze flickered back and forth between your eyes then searched your face. You pressed your fingers to his lips before he could interrupt, “there’s something that you need… that I need you to know, something that needs to be said.” You glanced away as your plaguing thoughts of Mary’s final moments flitted through your mind; all the things she wanted to tell John and never got the chance.

Sherlock kissed your fingers and you swallowed the lump in your throat, gave him a soft smile, and moved your hand away from his mouth over to his shoulder. “After my parents, I never allowed any kind of meaningful relationship. I was petrified that I wouldn’t be able to endure that kind of loss again. For years, I went through the motions and gathered my achievements trying to fill the deep empty spaces left after their loss. I had nightmares that plagued me and some nights I went without sleep not because I was studying but because I was terrified to see what would be conjured that night. It wasn’t until you snuck into my life, you crept under my skin before I even realized it and when I finally did, I was terrified. It’s debilitating, that moment when you realize another person holds so much more than your heart in their hands. Like your very life force is at that person’s mercy whether they understand it or not.”

His eyes widened slightly yet remained focused on yours with a small pinch in his brow. “You stood me up on Christmas Eve.” Your words clearly affected him but didn’t ruin his good mood as his hands rubbed your back in a familiar soothing motion.

Heat flooded your cheeks, “yes, I did.” You dropped your gaze and leaned into him as that pull he always caused inside you tugged gently.

“I still got what I wanted. Took some time but persistence pays off.”

You chuckled with a roll of your eyes, “you got what you wanted? You weren’t really the dating type.”

“Yes, but I knew what you were.” His right hand brushed through your hair and you met his gaze. “It just took me some more time to catch up. My brain is extremely fast.”

“I didn’t really think about it until I was writing something up and thought about my time in the hospital. How you helped me through the nightmares. How you all helped me through the stress and recovery. How you, Sherlock Holmes, not only gave me a family but completely changed the course of my life.”

His eyes flicked back and forth between yours then his brow rose, “the fear of life…”

You nodded then slid your hand down to rest above his heart, “maybe I knew of it before I met you. I just couldn’t admit it.”

“So, you’re saying we were more alike than you first thought?”

“Well, I spent all my time helping others because I didn’t want to admit that I needed the help myself.” You raised your brow and he looked away but his smirk was answer enough. “Very much so. Interesting, isn’t it?”

“Less fanciful, I guess.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips and you followed him as he pulled back. He grinned, “I did tell you in those first meetings that there were no other men like me.”

“And here I was just thinking you reminded me of my father.” You burst out laughing at the look on his face until he pulled you back to his chest and his hand caressed your cheek.

He studied you, your skin tingled as your face warmed under his gaze and your lips parted. He leaned in, closing the space between you but his lips never met yours. You opened your eyes and the mischief sparkling in his threw you. 

“Oh, by the way, John and Rosie are waiting downstairs with Vic and Will. We had dinner reservations, remember?”

“Shit!” The haze vanished and you reached over his shoulder, clicked save document accompanied by his groan in your ear as you slapped the laptop closed. You shifted in his lap and he groaned again grabbing your hips. You grinned, “you deserved that. I can’t believe you!” His delight flickered across his face and he gripped your hips tighter anticipating another movement, “you’re such a…”

He wrapped his arms around you and stood holding tight until you got your feet on the ground. “John’s the drama queen. Probably down there whinging about us taking so long.”

“You were stalling and taking too long.” The laughter couldn’t extinguish the tingling once again climbing up your arms and heating your skin. You were far too aware of the distance between his mouth and yours and the painfully demanding ache.

“I never consider alone time with you stalling. Well, most of the time.” He leaned down, rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. You shut your eyes and breathed him in, the mint on his breath mixing pleasantly with his aftershave and freshly pressed shirt. It was heady and his description of you being a drug completely understood in the moment. His hands expertly smoothed up your sides then slid around to your back and with just a gentle pressure, he pulled your body tight against his.

“We could be very bad for each other,” you whispered, deeply aware of how much your voice gave away.

His right hand moved up your spine while the other swooped down to your lower back slipping under your shirt. His right hand slowed as he reached the back of your neck, adding a bit of pressure to the tendon as he continued up into your hair and cradled the back of your head. You opened your eyes and met his heated gaze. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Epilogue**

 

Will and Rosie were working diligently with their buckets creating what was shaping up to be a massive sand palace complete with a moat that Will was currently using to wet his sand enough to stand just right. Rosie waited while Will carefully lifted each bucket, making sure the tower wouldn't fall. You were surprised with her patience at times as they made multiple trips down to the water to fill their buckets in the gentle waves and when Will’s perfectionist side appeared.

Sherlock’s hand brushed up your thigh then his fingers pressed in between yours. You were absently rubbing the scar tissue near your hip again. You met his gaze with a warm smile.

He leaned in and kissed you, long and lingering. “Delightful.”

He had been the one encouraging you before you even left the rental cottage's bedroom in your bathing suit. He had caught you standing in front of the full-length mirror, your gaze roaming over all the scars so visible.

 

_Once you met his gaze in the mirror, you watched him walk up behind you and rest his chin on your shoulder before his hands found your hips. His fingers brushed over the matching scar tissue on both hips and sent a wave of heat through your chest. You’d never understand how his touch could be so different on that marked skin even if you knew the science behind it._

_You took a shaky breath, “it's different.”_

_“It's beautiful.”_

_“At least they don’t stand out as much now.” You gave him a weak smile, your stomach twisting at the thought of stepping outside in just this bathing suit. People had scars, it wasn't abnormal so why were you so self-conscious about it?_

_He kissed your neck, his lips feather light over the small scar there. “We match.” He looked up into the mirror and met your gaze. “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest of souls.”_

_You had a hard time placing the familiar string of words then it flickered inside your mind like an old flashlight. “The most massive characters are seared with scars.” You smirked, “I don't think Khalil Gibran was talking about literal scars.”_

_“His loss.”_

Sherlock was in a pair of black swim trunks laid out on the beach towel beside you and propped up on his arm. He was right about one thing, you did match. The scars scattered over his pale skin from his many adventures had never given you pause or changed the way you looked at him. Well, the way he reacted when you caressed that portion of skin did change the way you looked at the scars but in a good way, in a very good way.

“What?” His voice halted your train of thought just in time. You could already feel the tightening in your lower abdomen and when you met his gaze, he had definitely noticed. His brow rose along with the corner of his mouth. “Where did you go?”

“I don't think I've ever seen you like this in public.”

“Like what?”

You glanced at his legs then lazily trailed your gaze up to face.

He grinned, “I'm a talented swimmer.”

“And so humble.” You chuckled as you looked out to check on the kids and saw the easy, strong strokes out in the water. “Looks like Fitz is out.”

“McPherson?” Sherlock lifted his hand over his eyes and looked toward the water. “It's unbelievable that a man of his talent simply works as a science professor for snotty brats.”

“Oh, he has some interesting things going on besides science. Well, I guess in a way it still has to do with science.” Sherlock looked at you and you smirked, “wait, didn't you go to the school…”

“Exactly. I went there, I know what they’re like. You're avoiding…”

You leaned toward him, “he has a very lovely lady friend.”

Sherlock pulled back and glanced toward the water, “I've never…”

“They've kept it secret but if you see the two together.” You thought about the first time you spotted them at the corner store with Vic, “well, anyone who actually observes could see a lot happening around him.”

“I see where this is going,” he settled back on his arm with a quick roll of his eyes, “just because you predicted Lestrade would ask out Molly...”

You touched his wrist, your fingers dancing along his pulse point and up the inner side of his arm. “Mmm, jealousy has always blinded you to the obvious.”

He hid the shiver pretty well but his deepened voice betrayed him, “pardon?”

“You let jealousy blind you when you saw us talking together, you never noticed the looks he gave Molly. He's been attracted to her for quite some time, he just never had a desire to act on it before she really moved on. You simply never noticed.”

He cleared his throat then his hand brushed your thigh. “When would I…”

“At your welcome back party when Lestrade and I were talking by the window.” You continued to tease him as he leaned towards you again. “He kept looking at her and some of the looks at the wedding but then you were too nervous about your speech so I guess you get a pass for that but,” he was so close now the heat from his breath brushed your lips, “there were so many missed opportunities over the years.”

Cool water splashed both of you and you rolled back with a gasp. You sat up and squinted before blocking the sun with your hand. Will stood in front of your towel with shock and remorse all over his face as he grabbed the lip of his bucket to stop its swing. Just past him, Rosie was giggling by what was left of the sand castle.

“Mama?” You smiled at him and he rushed on, “can I have a little brother? Rosie keeps knocking down my castle. A little brother wouldn't do that.”

Your brow shot up and Sherlock laughed, “I wouldn't count on that. That's what babies do.”

His nose scrunched up and he frowned, “Rosie’s not a baby.” He glanced back at the mound of sand Rosie was now dancing around and splashing through the moat. You noticed John and Vic making their way back up the beach walking a little closer together, their hands grazing each other instead of clasped but it was only a matter of time. That was something you admittedly hadn't seen. “So, I can have one?”

You met your son’s gaze, “one what?”

“A little brother.”

You glanced at Rosie as you tried to wrap your head around his request, “oh, love. I…” Rosie picked up a bucket and plopped it on her head, covering her blonde curls with the red plastic then thrust her arm in the air and continued her dance around the damaged castle. You couldn’t help but smile.

“I believe I've just been challenged.”

Your head snapped in sherlock’s direction, “I'm sorry, what?”

Will grinned and puffed out his chest, “I'd be a great big brother. I promise.”

Rosie ran up to Will and tugged on his arm, “I not the only pirate, Willie, come play!”

He turned and let out a dramatic sigh, “it’s Will, even when we’re pirates.” Then you watched the idea flicker in his head and he smiled taking her hand in his, “but maybe one-eyed Willie would work. Come on, I’ll show you how to build the biggest castle but only if you promise not to knock it down, okay? We need some place to put our treasure, don't we?”

“Okay, one-eyed Willie! Bestest captain of the neverseas!”

You smiled at the sight as Will led her to the remains of the castle. Once they were out of earshot, you turned back to Sherlock, “are you out of your mind?”

He pulled his gaze from the kids, his grin never faltering. “What? Ask John, I was great with Rosie. Once I got the hang of it.” He looked at the sand castle construction where John and Vic had just stopped, “John! Tell her I was excellent with Rosie.”

Even from the short distance, you could see John’s eyes widen and then he leaned down to Rosie like he didn't hear him while Vic laughed beside him.

Sherlock leaned toward you, “and I think it'd be interesting to see you with child.”

“Ugh, really? You had to say it like that? I am not an experiment, some Petri dish for you to analyze…” he cut you off with a kiss, a very telling kiss.

You followed him as he pulled away. His voice dropped into that low tone, “are you saying it's completely off the table?”

You studied his face, reading the little tells then gazed into his eyes. He was curious but there was also an excitement there that warmed you and almost made you laugh. “You have no idea what you're thinking.”

“Of course I do.”

“Babysitting for John is not the same thing as having the baby with you twenty-four hours a day.”

“Aren't you being just a bit dramatic?”

That snapped you out of the daze he had created. “We are not going to have another child so I can prove a point.”

“I thought it was so Will could be a big brother?” You laughed as Sherlock moved closer, “Miss I observe everything…”

He rolled on top of you and your laughter turned to shrieks. “Sherlock! You’re getting sand everywhere!”

“We can’t have that, now can we?”

Sherlock’s weight was suddenly gone and you looked up shielding your eyes with your hand. Then screamed as you were lifted off the sand and thrown over his shoulder. “Sherlock!”

He bounded down the beach toward the kids, “avast ye, maties! All hands on deck! Batten down the hatches!”

“What are you doing?” You shouted and tried to grab a hold of John or Vic as Sherlock carried you past but they stepped out of your reach waving with matching grins. “Traitors!”

You pressed against his lower back and twisted trying to see where you knew he was heading. “Don't!” 

He winked just before walking into the waves and dropping you both into the sea.

The kids came crashing in after you, laughing and shouting their own pirate lingo they no doubt picked up from Sherlock. You swept your wet hair off your face and looked up at him still laughing with the kids. “You’re...”

He grinned as he wrapped his arms around you. “The best pirate general.”

The kids cackled and yelled, “arrrr!”

You gazed into his eyes that impossibly seemed to match the water, “Sherlock Holmes, Pirate extraordinaire.”

He leaned down, his lips lingering just in front of yours, “you’re damn straight.”

John and Vic splashed into the water and the kids jumped on them. You continued to gaze into Sherlock’s eyes wondering if he would wait for you to break but then his mouth finally met yours. It was perfect.

It was slightly odd but you could hear Mrs. Hudson in your head, _just as it should be._  

 

 

 

**A study in Connection: AFTERWORD**

**I’ve only been asked what’s the point of life a handful of times by patients and I’ve always given what would probably be considered the psychologist’s answer but if I’m being honest, I would say Connection. It's what compelled me to write this book.**

**Life is full of moments, good and bad but it's your connections that make them all interesting. It's those connections that act as tethers not only to this world but to yourself, that person you are deep down. There are times when you feel like all hope is lost but that bond pulls you back from the brink and lifts you from the depths. There are times when you truly feel alive because their joy or your celebration is contagious. It all comes back to the bonds that make it all worth it, the connections that breathe life into everything and when the bad days come, and they will come, those tethers remind you who you really are.**

**We help each other in so many ways but maybe most importantly by seeing ourselves through their eyes, by always being there, and by proving a reason to keep going when we can’t find one on our own.**

**Those bonds are tenuous at first so protect them, nurture them, and in time they’ll strengthen and life becomes so much more… valuable. Or as Sherlock Holmes would say, ordinary people fill their lives with all kinds of rubbish and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters.** **If there’s one thing you take from this book, it should be that. Don't be ordinary, filling your life with things that don't matter just because there are empty spaces. I encourage you to take the risk even if it seems a scary undertaking. Find those bonds, create connections then take care of them, enjoy them, and be extraordinary.**


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